


You're Shooting Your Bullet the Wrong Way

by chellian



Series: Aid-verse [2]
Category: CountryHumans, Geography (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bodyguard Romance, Break Up, Developing Friendships, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Mafia AU, Murder, Mutual Pining, One-Sided Attraction, Pedophilia, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, this shit got dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 223,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22585078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellian/pseuds/chellian
Summary: "Please, we need to find my mother!" The teenager says as he rests his elbows on to the department's desk, and America pinches the bridge of her nose as another sigh erupts from her.(If America had to pinpoint where the whole agency started to take the whole Teikoku thing seriously and making him public enemy number one, it had to be here.)-or; CountryHumans Mafia AU.(DISCONTINUED)
Relationships: China/Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (Anthropomorphic), Japan/United States (Anthropomorphic), Mongolia/South Korea (Anthropomorphic), United Kingdom/Portugal (Anthropomorphic)
Series: Aid-verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577644
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	1. the beginning of the end

**Author's Note:**

> Name Guides;
> 
> Nippon Teikoku- Japan Empire
> 
> Nippon Koku- Japan
> 
> Daehan Minguk- South Korea
> 
> Choson Inmin- North Korea
> 
> Daehan Imsi- Korean Provisional Government
> 
> Daehan Jeguk- Korean Empire
> 
> Nabi- Colonial Korea, belongs to @redffeather

"Please, we need to find my mother!" The teenager says as he rests his elbows on to the department's desk, and America pinches the bridge of her nose as another sigh erupts from her.

(If America had to pinpoint where the whole agency started to take the whole Teikoku thing seriously and making him public enemy number one, it had to be here.)

"Look kid, our hands are full with loads of cases", America replies, not even glancing to the direction of the grovelling teenager and his uncle, who was rubbing his shoulders to calm him down. "Especially with a lot of mafia cases popping up lately, I believe that a missing woman ain't our number one priority."

"What my sister is trying to say", Canada jumps in, simply because of the fact he thinks that America saying truthful words is more criminal than the problems they are facing, "is that we will solve the case of your mother once we solve the problems evolving around the whole city." He gives her a pointed look but she rolls her eyes- her brother would do anything to prove her wrong.

"What's your name again, young man?", Philip asks the boy in front of the desk as he enters the reception desk with a notepad. "To remember your plea."

(America knows that once the boy files his name into the notepad Philip would tear the paper and burn it.)

"Daehan Minguk", the boy replies with a small stutter, and he points to the man with him, "this is my uncle, Daehan Imsi."

Philip nods, "Is he your only family?"

"No. I have a mother, Nabi- she was taken by a mob boss many years ago-"

"Wait a minute", Canada holds out a hand to stop Minguk's rambles. "Your mother was taken by a mob boss? Who, may I ask?"

"His name was Teikoku", Imsi speaks up, jaw hardening and a hand subconsciously lingering on his shoulder like it holds his most painful memories. America perks up at that name, and so do the others in the police station. "He murdered my brother - Daehan Jeguk - and Nabi had to... abide to him." His voice becomes strained as he wipes away a tear that had escaped the prison of his eye. "I told her that she didn't need to, but she tells me to run with the twins before she was dragged away by that bastard, and I never saw her since."

"Wait, Minguk had a twin?" Philip scribbles briefly on his notepad before pointing the pen to the uncle-nephew duo.

Imsi nods, "His name is Inmin, but he left our home to join a mob as he becomes more desperate to find his mother." There was a slight edge in his voice, as if that is not the only thing about Inmin they need to know- on the other hand, Minguk was quick to change the subject from his brother; he rambles on about the spots where he had previously looked for Nabi, with Canada reassuring that justice will be brought to his family while Philip nods agreeably as he takes more notes.

In the meanwhile, America looks at them with a bored look on her eyes as she disinterestedly fiddles with her pen. She had remembered being involved in a mafia mob, once- her father was a mob boss and devours territory after territory before settling with her mother for a night and having her. She didn't have much memories of it since her father keeps her from such affairs until even when he was arrested of his crimes. He remembers embracing her before the trial, before he is declared life in prison and she and her siblings bid her goodbye.

And three weeks later America discovers her father had broken out of jail, with no news of where he went.

"... America!" She blinks once again, looking around and seeing that the two were already gone, replaced with Australia and New Zealand who were handling paper documents.

"What?", she snaps at them with a scowl, completely annoyed at the fact that they decided to wake her from her dream produced out of boredom.

"We were talking about the Teikoku case", Canada says, cup of coffee in his hand. "About what we're going to do to him and his colleagues."

America groans, "So you guys are really taking this case seriously now, huh? All because of a son wanting his mother to come back..." She catches the cup of coffee sliding towards her and takes a sip of it, savouring its bitter taste on her tongue.

"Not only that", Kiwi replies with a sigh, "there's been a rivalry brewing within all mafia mob clans this time. A... territorial feud."

"Territorial feuds are the reason why dad got arrested", America crosses her arms, pursing her lips at the memory. "Alright, what's the recent news of the mobs?"

"Two mobs - Poland and Reich - had exchanged bullets today near the public square", Australia responds as he points to a sector of the map, "reason was that Reich accused rival mob boss of murdering a colleague of his."

"Wait a minute- Reich?" America tries to remember who had the name before her mind clicks to the one family of the Deutsches. They had been a rampant mafia family when she was just a nobody officer, but they heavily weakened to the point the former - and late - mob boss of the family, Deutsches Reich, had to run away to another city. "Didn't the last one die and leave his incompetent son in place?"

"Weimar's records seem to have been erased from every company he seems to have been, it seems." Australia fiddles around another stack of papers. "And replaced with Reich's records. Strange, since his kids, West and Ost still have their birth certificates intact."

"That's another mystery the others will solve", America replies, brushing the case off of her shoulders. "I'm talking about how Canada doomed us all by promising two people that we can return their mother to them."

Canada scoffs, crossing his arms, "And we will get his mother back from Teikoku."

"Canada, Teikoku's mob is one of the most dangerous mafia groups I have ever seen in my entire life." America leans back on her chair with a huge sigh, like she has done a lot other than sit on the same chair and answer calls all day.

"But you _love_ danger, don't you?" She stops, feeling Canada's glee from a mile. Her mind tells her she's been caught in her own game and now she actually has to work in this operation to break into Teikoku's most private grounds.

America jumps back to proper shape. "First of all, I ain't seducing Teikoku to the point he spills his disgusting secrets down to the floor."

Canada's smirk grows wider. "We aren't telling you to let the asshole fuck you, my god."

"Does the guy have any relatives outside of him, himself and he?"

"He does", Kiwi starts, flipping through another load of documents. He starts to spread photos of the selected individuals around the desk. "Alright so apparently his father was the former billionaire Tokugawa Shogunate. His mother was a prostitute-turned wife named Edo, and he has two brothers, Tokyo, and Koku- the latter happens to be his half-brother, whose mother is Azuchi-Monoyama."

America blinks wildly at the two pictures of both Koku and Teikoku. Their eyes were as grey as a dark rain cloud over the horizon, threatening to spill its tears into the buildings, their hair as dark as night and smoothed into perfection (Koku's hair was longer than Teikoku's much uptight one though), their face shape more refined and so similar, even more than Tokyo, who was Teikoku's whole brother. The only things that were different is the aura they perceive; Teikoku wants respect and fear, eyes shining with dozens of ambition and malicious intent, while Koku's shine with some form of kindness and perceived innocence, like he has never done something wrong his entire life.

"They look like twins", America states matter-of-factly, and her brothers all roll their eyes at her statement.

"Yeah, which is the reason why Teikoku likes him even more than his own kids." Kiwi takes out two more pictures, "two daughters, one son; Hokkaido - mother is Ezo - Palau, and Okinawa, whose mother is the lost Ryūkyū."

"Testaments from Teikoku's colleagues and victims state that he's quite fond of his brother too", Aussie replies. "Well, someone has to bribe Koku into their bidding." He gives a pointed look at America and she scowls.

"I have a bet that Koku's his second-in-command", Canada says. "It's why he's in Teikoku's good graces."

"Well then", America stands, cup of coffee on her hand, "we'll talk about it with the others later, on what we're going to do with Teikoku's mob."

-

"Tell me, Minguk", Philip says in a much softer voice as he takes out his notepad. "Can you remember how they took your mother?"

Minguk was sitting, legs wide as his hands clasp together, expression looking mournful like a baby animal crawling back to their dead mother which had become victim to the cruel clutches of the circle of life, but the youngling must continue and will fall the same fate as their mother. He takes a deep breath, looking at Philip and everyone else in the room before exhaling loudly, sweat dripping from his forehead like he was forcefully being interrogated by a crime he has or has not committed.

"I was eight, when it all happened..."

_"Hurry Minguk!", his mother's soft voice echo through the long and winding alleyways, but his little feet was not enough to carry him through a long and treacherous journey. He waddles as fast as he can, his family members a few steps ahead of him but it felt like they were running away from him now. Overwhelmed with the sense of fear and dread in his senses, eyes staining with tears he fell over and starts to cry, only to be scooped up by his father, who caught up with Nabi - who has Inmin - and Imsi._

_He hears loud sounds coming from the corner they had just turned, and he couldn't help but shake a little as his little body snuggled more into his father's shirt, who was sweating much but it was fine, his father is scared, from the way his heart starts to thump._

_"Appa, what's happening?" Minguk's small voice finds its way to his father's ears, and between huffs he answered._

_"It's nothing, Minguk... there are bad people chasing us... but we can get away from them." There was a small loss of hope in the last sentence, something Minguk notices but did not get; they will get out of here, from the bad man chasing them away from their home._

_Another loud BANG! sounds from behind the corners and with a choked cry of pain his father falls down and Minguk yelps, his fear starting to form. He lands on the hard ground as strange liquid comes out of his father's head._

_"Appa? Appa!", Minguk shouts as he crawls towards his father's sleeping body, nudging at him to wake up. "Appa, it's no time for sleep, remember? Please wake up!" The young boy touches the part of his father's head pouring out the strange red liquid; it was thick and somewhat slimy, and it crawls onto his hands and clothes with a sense of vengeance. He hears Eomma scream from somewhere ahead of them and feels himself being scooped up by familiar warm arms. He struggles against her strong arms, shouting and kicking and getting the liquid from Jeguk's body into her sleeves. He needs to be there for his father when he wakes up, he needs to tell him what has happened._

_"We need to leave now, Nabi", Imsi says, carrying Inmin's small frame, his younger brother looking at Appa's body with wide eyes._

_(Why is uncle asking them to leave? Appa is sleeping on the ground!)_

_Eomma does not listen, as Minguk feels her shaking, trying to hold him as she falls to her knees and her chest heaving as she releases her nerve-racking sobs, making the whole world turn dark and blurry. Even Minguk wishes to cry too, as he tugs on her sleeve and keep inquisitively telling her what is happening, but it was as if a shield went through her and blocks out all the noise he is making. He tugs on her sleeve, on her dress and tries to uncover her face which are now being covered by her wet palms. Imsi's voice is now a muffled and distant whisper._

_A small **tsk tsk tsk** starts to sound from in front of them, and a man kicks Jeguk's slumbering body away from them both. Minguk feels anger inside of him as he lets go of his mother - he hears her shout at him to go back to her arms - and to the towering and standing man above him._

_"Oh **Chōsen**.", the bad man says, snickering and smirking all the way, looking at his mother. "You have no idea how much I wanted to do this."_

_"Jeguk paid his debt!", Eomma says through choked sobs, still looking at his father's body like she has just lost something dear to her. "Why would you do this?!"_

_Teikoku shrugs, as he looks at Minguk with those empty, gray eyes, before smiling maliciously back at Eomma. "For entertainment; I've been bored these past few weeks, and I figured I needed something to enlighten me."_

_"By killing my husband?! Putting my family in danger?!" She scoops up Minguk from where he was standing and he did not fight, as he feels his mother's heartbeat quicken._

_"It doesn't have to be like this." The man steps on Appa's corpse like it was just a bump in the road, a speed bump and Minguk doesn't like it as he grits his teeth. He wants to fight him, he really does._

_He pulls Minguk away from Eomma, who was now reaching for him with a small plea in her face, but Teikoku kicks Minguk away like a small animal. He starts to cry as he feels the rocky ashphalt come contact with his face and he feels two arms scoop him up, and now he is with Inmin. He massages the gash on his cheek as he looks at Eomma and Teikoku in horror._

_Teikoku pulls Eomma up, her frame shaking as he puts his arms around her waist and pulls her closer into her. Eomma's eyes widen as she hears him speak and starts to cry even more than before, with uncle shaking his head._

_"Nabi, don't- AGH!" Another bang sounds from the gun Teikoku was holding, straight through Imsi's shoulder, as he drops both Inmin and Minguk to the crowd, with both of them embracing each other for comfort. His ears were ringing from the loud sound, heart racing, as he closes his eyes._

_When his eyes open, Eomma and the bad man were not there anymore._

Philip hands Minguk a tissue as he finishes his story, tears streaming down his face like a river with a thousand currents, the tear drops dripping into his jacket like rain in the most calming of mornings before it turns to solemn ones as the clouds go grey and dark as night, no sun to help them survive. Minguk wipes his face, sniffling a little, as everyone in this room share furtive glances with each other on what they were now about to do.

Canada casts America a look, and she crosses her arms while looking at him.

"Did you hear what Teikoku told Nabi?", Philip softly asks as he takes Minguk's hand like a father softly telling his son he had done nothing wrong.

(America can't blame him; Spain murdered his son in cold blood and now he's maddeningly trying to implant himself as a father figure to all he meets.)

"I didn't, but now, I do", his face hardens, resolve becoming more firm, "Teikoku had asked for her body for our freedom."

The entire room is silent; not even the air conditioner's buzz can penetrate nor shatter it. Philip tells Vietnam with a glance to take note and she does. America's throat was dry with anxiety, palms sweating and she didn't know why- she decides it was the officers' breathes, on how they were going to handle this situation and how they will plan this suicide mission out.

Canada speaks first, his voice deep, loud and firm to get everyone's attention. "Records state that Teikoku has brothels all over the city. Some has to infiltrate them, and others have to infiltrate his home."

-

Write; that is what Koku does in his spare time. Write anything that is on his mind with no hint of stopping as he scribbles on any piece of paper to write the words in his mind- be it inquisitive questions to everyday life, general snippets his brain manages to think of as he does work or chores (and he'd hate how he would forget the structure and saying of the words once he is now seated on a table with a piece of paper on his hands), or even the shortest of stories or little prompts his mind gears generate and letting his writing skills be honed for the best. He studies the short sentence he had made for the fourth time, before crumpling it and throwing the paper into the bin.

(His brother had gifted him a laptop on his birthday three years ago, but he rarely uses it unless it's around Teikoku or when he needed something for printing.)

A small butterfly perches on his window, and he smiles peacefully, a sigh on his lips as he stares at its wings, a fiery blaze of fire like familiar ambitious eyes staring back at him before fluttering away, only to be eaten by a bird nestling into the tree. Koku cringes as he hears the crunch of the butterfly, before deciding what he'll write next.

In the meanwhile, Teikoku takes a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it and putting the damn thing in his mouth, as he looks at the documents on his table with a content look on his face. His gray eyes look up for a moment to check what time it is in the window displayed in front of him, before his cigarette drops to the ground, mouth agape.

In front of his window are a swarm of butterflies, seemingly looking at him with those little delicate wings of theirs.


	2. Death of a Batchelor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name Guide
> 
> Nippon Koku- Japan
> 
> Teikoku Nippon- Japan Empire
> 
> Sulian- Soviet Union
> 
> Renmin- China
> 
> Choson Inmin- North Korea
> 
> Daehan Minguk- South Korea
> 
> Daehan Imsi- Korean Provisional Government

"Koku, our brother's calling us!" Koku lifts his head up from where he was loathing the words he had just typed on the keyboard, a small twinge of excitement in his face. He immediately closes the bright screen of the laptop and exits his bedroom, running down the long and winding stairs that he loved playing on when he was a sweer child, along with his older brother who'd accompany him.

He lands on the floors gracefully, seeing Teikoku staring at him with a huge smile on his face.

"Teikoku!", Koku exclaims, running towards his brother, laughing a little. He feels Tokyo's grimace from far away, giving him a sense of discomfort that will plague him for sometime before deciding that his brother is simply just jealous of the affection Teikoku gives to him.

(Sometimes he'd see the desolation in his children's eyes too; a spark of hope that Teikoku would move on from Koku so he could embrace them in such a filial way, and ocassionally, Koku would wonder why he wouldn't notice his own children.)

"How are you today?" Teikoku ruffles his hair and Koku - with a smile - protests against it.

"I'm fine, _onii-chan_!", he replies with a small laugh. "I'm finishing the latest chapter of the book I'm writing."

Teikoku chuckles, "Well, tell me if you're finished with the whole thing; I'd _love_ to read it. But first let's have dinner, shall we? Manchukuo!" He calls onto his butler, who scuttles out of his room, all stumbling and awkward as he fixes his glasses.

(Koku thinks that Manchukuo should - say - be more prepared and look absolutely professional and impressionable, lest many think that their bodyguard... isn't a bodyguard and more like a chaperone who would read books and a cup of coffee in his spare time.)

"Yes, sir?", he stutters, causing Teikoku to frown up at him; Manchukuo fixes his tie and hair, leading it to become more dishevelled rather than kept, like a dog with fur sticking on their ends.

"Start the car. We're going to have dinner someplace else." Teikoku's tone was crisp- like he wanted to hit Manchukuo in front of everyone to humiliate him, showing how intolerant he is of his behaviour and the way he works. Manchukuo rapidly nods as he scampers towards the exit doors, Teikoku's eyes following him in an ill-mannered and impatient face; one second and he'll be shot at.

Koku smiles a little at Teikoku, whose frown turns upside down as he looks at his half-brother, the simplest speck of light in the cloud covered sky, reaching to the dark depths of the sea to pull out the orient pearl in the murky waters.

He looks at Koku brightly with a glint in his eyes, "Where would you like to have dinner, then?"

Koku shrugs, knowing full well that he's not fond of making decisions of his own. "Where do _you_ want to go, Teikoku?"

Teikoku thinks for a moment before clicking his tongue. "There's this new restaurant that opened at the centre of the city; you'll _adore_ it."

Koku nods, "And I trust your judgement."

("I don't", Tokyo whispers to Hokkaido, who hums affirmation, Koku barely catching their exchange before moving on.)

"Your ride is ready, sir", Manchukuo's head protudes from the front door, and Teikoku's mood immediately sours, already strutting to the doors, Koku and the others trying to catch up with his fast pace.

Manchukuo and Teikoku were busily talking - out of earshot - as Koku, Hokkaido and Tokyo busy tehmselves in the passenger seats (Okinawa sits on Hokkaido's lap, his half-brother steadying him).

He looks out the dark lenses of the windows, giving everything a much darker and subtle tone of sadness; from the evergreen shrubs Koku had planted years ago with his tiny hands, being helped by his brother as he works, turned to a much more darker shade of what has transpired.

The car ride was not annoyingly noisy to the ears nor unbearably silent- Manchukuo and Teikoku were making small talk in hushed voices, like a buzzing bee in Koku's ear thinking the small insect has hit jackpot before being swatted away by a large force. Okinawa was getting fussy on Hokkaido's lap, gurgling and wanting to be transferred towards Tokyo, who was silently reading, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, looking so much at peace.

Koku would sometimes envy at how... _normal_ they seem to be around each other, like they are the best of friends who stick through even the most hardened times, and whenever they look at each other there was such understanding in their eyes, like they empathise in whatever way. And he remembers that whenever Teikoku arrives, they'd freeze up and halt their conversation, their eyes following after their own blood with fear, like he was a predator in their area full of prey. Like they were wary that Teikoku would turn his head to them with either a small smirk on his face, intent on humiliating them, or with an angry frown that'd mean it was the end of their world and he'd tear them apart until they were shreds of life.

They were awkward and wary around Koku too; a simple smile at their direction is enough to make them flinch or send them running to the other direction. Like he was Teikoku. Like he means harm and he needs harm to sustain his lifeline.

(He will never get why they are not fond of their own blood.)

So Koku sits in silence, grey eyes on the car's carpeted floors (credits to Teikoku).

-

Manchukuo parks the car in a spot where the sun never leaves them, always bothering them despite the fact it is being conquered by the moon and stars who wish to devour the light to make way for the darkness, and the dying sun forging its flames on the surface of the moon, mangled holes giving off the light the sun but weaker before it dies, and at twilight it rises back from the dead and the cycle continues.

"Ugh, the suns' reaching everywhere", Koku says as he exits the car, arm above his head and shades present underneath his eyes, the glaring light of the sun still escaping through the darkest filters of his innate boundary. "For a dying light against the sky, it's still annoyingly bright."

Teikoku laughs a little as he emerges from the car, "Don't worry, dinner's coming."

The brand new restaurant seems to be jam-packed, despite the fact that - according to Teikoku - it had just opened yesterday. Its huge windows reflect himself, his dark hair and pale complexion, striking gray eyes that looks through the reflections and into the thrums of people inside them; the people already comfortably seated on the seats around the tables, waiters and waitresses serving them their long-awaited dishes for the day, the chandelier above them glowing golden with its light bulbs looking more like waxed candles dancing with flames than inventions of electricity. It was enticing, and at the same time making Koku uncomfortable; for some reason he can never really be at peace with the notion of being in a place full of people, strangers- maybe it was because he only grew up knowing and getting used to only his family talking to him, so that talking to another person was now an act of force and a chore (although chores are much, much better than talking to a complete stranger).

Koku spent so much time admiring the place and daydreaming that he has - once again - built a glass dome, protecting himself from any disturbances that will disrupt his thought process and serenity, which can only be shattered like a vulnerable and pricey vase with one voice.

"Koku!", he feels a hand snake around his shoulders, and he jumps a little before instinctively calming down when he is faced with Teikoku's small smirk on his lips. "Daydreaming again, weren't you?"

Koku absently nods, his eyes turning back to the inside of the restaurant, its golden streaks of light looking much more realistic than it intends to be, making the whole venue all the more charming. "This place is _beautiful_."

Teikoku chuckles a little. "That it is- you want to go inside? I'd made a reservation a week ago."

"Of course I do!"

"Well then", Teikoku takes a step and Koku's feet follows, "let's go in, shall we?"

Once the door opens to let his family inside of the grandeur, he feels a rush of cool air collide with his warm cheeks, the scent of cooked food filling the air, jazz music playing from the speakers above them and small chatter reaching his ears. He hears the clinks of wine glasses and people laughing, trying to look and act their absolute best in the midst of formality. The sizzling of frying pans reaches Koku's ears too, as the door to the kitchen swishes back and forth like a baseball bat in a player's hands, ever so ready in a match and ever so used to the feeling of the hardened wood around his palms. The smell of the atmosphere makes him wonder if he could eat thin air; a mix of wine, roasted beef and many other specialties he can trace, lingering in the air as its smoky fingers play with their heartstrings one by one, being replaced with another, then another, then another.

Koku takes a seat right beside Teikoku, who was once again talking to Manchukuo in a hushed voice.

(Seriously, what are they talking about and why are they keeping the conversation from him? Was the question in his mind, along with others, but he swallows them down in fear of making his brother ultimately mad.)

So he keeps his eyes straight forward, eyeing every detail that catches his eye- that Okinawa is now playing with Tokyo and Hokkaido's wine glasses, making airplane noises; that the chandelier above them is swaying slightly as the air changes its course towards it; that a waiter is covering his face with a mask, hands clasped, leg bouncing impatiently, looking everywhere, turning his head left and right like he was expecting a guest- until at last, he looks right ahead at Teikoku before fast-walking to the kitchen's door...

Koku blinks, his eyes never leaving that door until he hears someone snap his fingers, and he turns his attention back to his family, now ordering their desired meals. Teikoku looks at him expectantly, fingers drumming the table and raising a brow at his direction. Koku deliberately has no time for ordering, so he tells Teikoku he wants what his brother wants.

Teikoku blinks a little, "Are you _sure_ you want spicy food?"

Koku nods with no hesitation. "Sure."

Teikoku dismisses the waiter with a little wave, before resuming his conversation with Manchukuo.

The ignored boy decided to dream about how one day, he will become a world renowned writer. He can already imagine his books in many a shelves, waiting to be read by people who wishes to read the words he has so carefully integrated into the delicate pages that can be folded or thrown into the lake but words still readable (of course he would not accept his book being treated that way), and interpretative to the audience as their eyes roam around the words looping the page with hunger, beads of sweat dropping from the pores of their skin as their finger bends to turn the page.

(He would accept the fact that not everyone would like the way he write though; at least he would get the pleasing of a few audiences and even good compliments and reviews that will make him red for the next few months.)

He hums a small song his mother used to sing to him before she mysteriously vanished (a melody he hums everyday to remember his mother by), trying to look busy by examining the plain white napkin and tissue at his side of the table, at what is the highest tone the wine glass can go when he starts hitting it purposefully with a spoon, and basically tuning everything out until it becomes a static buzz like it is all in his head.

And then like a bomb buzzing throughout the sky to create a cataclysm of events, the whole world implodes all around him. Then the next second seems like everything was in slow motion; there was a buzzing and ringing in his ears that were like a whole garbled mess of another language that a barrier had been formed around them all. Everything was falling to bits in such a slow pace, he wonders if he really is in a movie setting but seemingly so real- the chandelier, instead of plummeting to the floors is slowly but steadily falling like the flipbook did not fully construct its drawings properly and the choppy fall of the chandelier is the result of it; he hears Teikoku shout but the rest of it is slurred and drunk, their table flipping over as glass shards fly across the restaurant, everyone else seemingly stuck in a choppy format, eyes widening in surprise, drinks being spilled, trays being thrown away by the sheer force of the explosion...

And then the spell breaks, as the chandelier plummets to the ground, light bulbs shattering and splaying all over the face. One even tries to impale him right over the eye, and he tries to dodge it, but it seems that his feet are glued to the floor, only watching it come closer, closer to his face to hit its target-

A hand yanks him back down behind a dining table, which has now been turned to a shield; nearby, he hears the sounds of guns clicking and people shrieking and screaming, the thudding of feet loud in his ears. He slowly turns to face Manchukuo, pursed lips and furrowed brows, as he readies his own gun for a battle.

"Stay here with Tokyo and Hokkaido, alright?", Manchukuo tells him, tight-lipped, "me and Teikoku will handle this mess." Koku nods absently, his gray eyes following Manchukuo's departing body from their hiding spot and into the mass of blood.

Koku is in a state of shock, unable to move nor get up from where he was hiding with his siblings. Instead of the air and wind supporting him in his every breath, they are puncturing his chest as his bones break apart to form splinters surrounding his heart but his ribs trying to shield the damned source of his life, beating the way his ears are now ringing a high melody. Koku chokes a little, feeling small particles of dust being absorbed into his throat, his lungs suffocating him whole. Koku tries to get up, but his legs feel like jelly, like they've been broken to tiny pieces. He breathes in and out, but he cannot inhale that fast and hard as his lungs start to fall apart underneath all this smoke and dust, hidden beneath gaps to conjure up a surprise attack reserved for him and only him.

So he follows his chaperone's word and stays with Hokkaido and Tokyo, both shell-shocked and trying to soothe Okinawa who is now shivering and shaking.

-

Manchukuo has been trained - blood and sweat - for this; it's pulsing in his veins, as he finally put all his hardwork for good work. He can feel a sense of relief once he can finally hold the smooth surface of a gun again, its shine rivalling the moonlight from outside, which had just risen to conquer the orange ball lighting up the entire day. He takes a look at it for a moment, admiring its handiwork, before filling it with bullets meant to target people, sinner or saint.

He sees his boss in the midst of the stampeding crowd, causing more chaos and difficulty rather than easiness. The crowd in front of him were like animals- one single event will conjure surprise, shock, panic and fear that will cause them to go hooting and making the situation even worse. Manchukuo then hears a group shouting in a spur of languages: Korean, Russian, Chinese; and he turns his head towards their direction, seeing them cock their pistols, ready to shoot at Teikoku and give themselves a well-earned pat on the back for a job well done.

Mancukuo swallows his nervousness away, his nervousness because he has grown accustomed to the ways of the mob, its deep, sick, and twisted insides that are all full of rot but he has no mind for this: Teikoku promises his children will be spared from his great wrath, if in turn he works for him.

He remembers that night clearly; there was a slight glimmer of malevolence in his eyes as he offers this deal to Manchukuo, all those years ago, but he thinks nothing of it, young and immature with nowhere to go, accepting the deal and taking Teikoku's hand, then training hard, to murder, to be a puppet, and ultimately becoming Teikoku's right-hand man in the scale of things, a blurred view of what is right and wrong.

(Every night, when he comes home to his children, barely old enough to understand the basics of the entire world and how it revolves around the sun, he thinks; thinks if he is doing the right thing, the right will, the best of the best to keep his children safely underneath his arms, to the end of his days.)

So, he takes another deep breath to make himself at peace that he is going to have to kill once again, before pulling the trigger, once, twice, thrice. All of them drop to the ground like flies once their monster pulls out a repellent that has murdered them all. Blood oozes from their bodies, but their murderer is now running towards his boss, who is shielding himself with a table, gunshots being heard and he tries his best to dodge them.

(For someone wearing glasses, he was a good shot- he'd use it to make people underestimate his prowess.)

"Sir, Soviet and his mob must have known of your plans for the day", Manchukuo pants, finally reaching Teikoku, veins in his hands pulsing, a glare set on his face as he peeks outside of their barrier before almost getting shot by a stray bullet.

"I _know_ that", Teikoku replies, "the question is _how_ to get rid of them."

Manchukuo looks back to dozens of men in black, holding out guns poised to shoot and kill in one motion, towards the sea of bodies surrounding him and Teikoku. The first option was to run like an idiot towards the perpetrators before getting shot or stomped to the death with heavy feet by the crowd. The second was to hide in the same spot, hoping and praying to the gods above that this entire operation will go down the ground, since they are, in this case, outnumbered, them finally becoming the prey.

"There are too many of them, sir", Manchukuo notes, "we don't have enough men to fully wipe out all of Soviet's men coming for our blood tonight."

"Are you underestimating my power?" Teikoku pulls his trigger and lets out a bullet, straight to one's head, but before he falls another bullet goes straight to his head to hit his comrade behind him, also dead. " _Anata wa_?"

Manchukuo blinks at the two corpses, whose lives had just been shot through the heart abruptly by Teikoku himself, the sun that even the plants wilt and dry up. He shakes his head, " _Iie_ , Teikoku- _sama_."

(He learns the hard way never to cross even the slightest side-eye from him, his gray eyes showing the bespectacled boy a portal to the fiery pits of hell itself.)

Manchukuo inhales and exhales, relaxing himself as he aims the gun on two more violators and shooting them, straight through their head, their bodies falling like the plague has taken them one by one. And then he sees a spurring object, almost hurdling towards him before he sidesteps out of the way just in time. His glasses fall out to the floors, and he is overcome with panic as he drops to the floor, searching for his glasses while his vision swims like a river flowing right at him.

Then he hears the cock of a pistol, its metal clinking against its owner.

"Manchukuo", the newcomer greets, allegedly knowing his name; his voice was... _familiar_ , except it was now in a lower tone of voice, no innocence left in him. "It's... _nice_ to see you again."

Manchukuo feels the smooth and cold handles of his glasses, and he puts them on, blinking a little to satisfy himself of his clear vision. Then he sees him- the face on the missing posters he's hung up in his room to reminisce a time where everything was kept in their house, just a block away from where he is residing now. The old, abandoned house, grass overgrown and conquering the old white walls, untouched for decades, a ghost in time, but a ghost visible to his eyes nonetheless. The phantoms of the past loves to toy with him, as he walks by that same old house he has left all those years ago, to pursue a desperate way to get money, without his brothers by his side, and Teikoku had taken him in like a small cat stuck in the jaws of death, mangy and beaten.

"Renmin?", he asks, narrowing his eyes as he takes a step closer, but the other falls back. "Is that you?"

Renmin's eyes linger from the gun in his hand, and to Manchukuo's face, searching for a sign, with an unreadable look in his eyes. Manchukuo's lips curl to a small smile and a sad laugh resounds from deep within him, finally being released after years of anguish.

"It _is_ you!", Manchukuo embraces the young man, Renmin struggling underneath his grip as his gun falls to the tiled floors, making a sharp sound from underneath the sounds of gunshots and the sight of crimson liquid everywhere. "How long has it been since we last saw each other? Two years? Three?"

" _Ten_ years", Renmin deadpans, lips pursed to a thin line, eyeing the gun on the floors. "We haven't seen each other for ten years, and here we are."

Manchukuo's smile falters a little, but he keeps it glued to his face, overjoyed at the sight of his brother, obscured from the entirety of his life for a decade. "But... we finally see each other again. I would've preferred a much more _decent_ setting", he looks at the broken and shattered glass windows, the once highly refined setting of this venue tumbling to ruins after just a day of its reign, a king succumbing to his land after just annexing the furthest of regions in his empire, "but we meet again nonetheless."

Renmin nods, breaking away from Manchukuo's arms, "So we have."

Manchukuo's mind was not on the corpses scattering to the floors, the foreign languages swirling around his head, making him dazed the longer he is with Renmin, the one that got away. Tears were forming in his eyes, a dam about to break to unleash a wave of unresolved emotions, trying to break out of the cold and frozen prison hidden behind his eyes to punish him for ever letting them dry up. He holds his brother's hand, smooth and warm underneath his rough and calloused palms, and he wonders; if his life with Soviet was smooth sailing, the seas calm in his grasps, the sky blue and the water clear. And his life was rough, always a stormy day and night, his boat rocking back and forth as the angry waves try devouring him deep into the waters like they are sirens luring their hypnotized prey only to be torn to shreds.

"We can escape this madness, you know?", Manchukuo says, voice breaking, clasping more onto his younger brother, his hands growing colder like death is overtaking him. "I can start the car. We can leave. Not without my kids though, I love them to bits, and you'll adore them. We can rent an apartment in another city, out of this shit we've dug into."

Renmin's eyes show no sign of comprehending his older brother's message, always empty, and then... it shines a little. His unreadable face turns to one of excitement (but it looks forced, for Manchukuo's part), the hands on Manchukuo's warming like its life had returned to it, hope rekindling from this life of misery. "That would be... _lovely_ , Manchukuo. Away from everything we've ever known, and into the unknown. That's such a brilliant plan. Come here for a moment."

He pulls on Manchukuo's arm, and he follows, compliant. Before he can think clearly however, Renmin pushes him to the floors, pistol on his hand, a small smile tracing over his face, watching his brother below him widen his eyes in surprise before realizing how dire the situation is; Renmin aims the gun at Manchukuo and shoots- he misses his head, but he gets his thighs at the very least.

The bullet was like a small little button, just deadlier and thicker, his delicate skin being punctured by the cursed thing and blood comes spilling out. The pain was unbearable- a thousand needles cutting deep into his skin, trespassing to the deepest crevices of his soul as the blood gushes out towards his wool clothing, the dark hue of his pants clashing with the crimson red, pulsing in his veins, pooling into his clothes and absorbing it like a wet sponge after washing the dishes. His breathes are ragged, struggling to stabilize his condition as his heart beat increases faster, panic rising in him as he trembles and shakes; he has only ever felt the metal clad against his head whenever he speaks out too many times against Teikoku, but he has never been shot.

Until now, that is.

A thousand screams were trying to erupt from his mouth, mind and veins, pulsing too much, his fingers engraved deep into his palms, puncturing him ever so slightly, in the simplest of ways, blood dripping from his mouth due to biting too much.

" _Dàgē_ ", Renmin's voice was soft and dim, Manchukuo straining to hear his voice. "This is goodbye."

He does not lift his hand however, but Manchukuo sees it- a dot a distance away from them, growing increasingly nearer and before he has time to finally get ahold of his situation, everything goes black, the end of his act, the end of his play.

-

Renmin stares at the limp figure that used to be his brother, tuning out all sounds from anywhere else as he looks at those dark eyes- full of hope to have a new life, away from the mobs, away from Teikoku, away from this madness; now just a listless stare into the oblivion he is now falling through. He hears a cry from somewhere distant, but he pays no mind, kneeling down and closing his eyes, his face cold as death had come to him fast, the hole where the bullet went through dripping out blood, glasses askew. Renmin takes in a deep breath, sighing a little before he feels two arms wrap around him like a coat during the winter season. He feels a kiss on his cheek, and all of a sudden he grows warmer.

"Sulian...", he sighs as he kisses his lover on the lips, the larger chuckling as they deepen their kiss on enemy ground, the floors splattered with blood, all screaming in pandemonium. But Sulian was his heaven, a dream come true, and with him everything is serene. Sulian breaks their kiss however, uttering a needy whine from Renmin but he shushes him.

"Listen, _lyubov_ ". Renmin's ears stop clouding the drenches of his skull, then he hears it- blares of a police siren.

" _Gāisǐ_ _de_ ", Renmin swears underneath his breath, already realizing how heavy their situation is right now. "Gather the men, get out of here before the goddamn police arrive." He finds another strapping young man eyeing Teikoku, eyes narrowed, hands relaxed on the gun, poised to kill. He sighs a little, "I'll take care of Inmin."

Renmin swerves and ignores the mangled bodies scattered about the floor, the gunshots never scaring nor hindering him as he makes his way towards his goal- the unhinged man by the kitchen door, his only remaining eye furious with passion and fiery vengeance on the one who ruined his life and made him plummet to where he is now. The blaring of the sirens were getting louder now, becoming a source of irritation in his ears.

"Inmin." The adolescent almost drops the pistol he was holding until he reflexively catches it with a hand. He glares at Renmin and stares back at his target. "We need to leave; the police are here."

"I don't care!", Inmin hisses, eyes still on Teikoku, murdering his way through the bodies, looking more like a deity punishing the mortals than a man himself. "I want to kill him. I want to torture him so that he can feel the pain he gave me."

"Now's not the time Inmin!", Renmin snipes, hands on Inmin's arms, pulling him back to the exit, comparable to a mother scolding and forcibly taking a child from a store of sweets. "The police are there and if they see you with a firearm they're going to handcuff you! We are _not_ bailing you out!"

Inmin growls, trying to shake off the firm grip on his arm, "So what if I get stuck in a cold cell for the rest of my life?! At least I know _what_ happened to my mother!"

"Your mother wouldn't like it if her dearest son sees you in a prisoner's outfit, would she?" He knows he should feel bad about threatening Inmin like this, but he'd done this to him most of the time; from doing housework chores, guilt tripping him, and to this. One word of his mother not being appreciative about his life, Inmin's whole confidence comes crashing down to a zero, just the way Soviet likes it.

Inmin's arm goes slack, and he lets Renmin drag him from the chance of finally getting the sweet vengeance he so desired ever since he was a child. Revenge was calling out to him, a voice seducing him to kill Teikoku before it is too late, trying to bribe him of a life of riches for one soul. One heartless and wretched soul, enough to rid the world of one person who doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as they do. He sees Teikoku smile, shooting as many people as he wishes, sometimes missing Inmin's comrades to shoot civilians, and sometimes he would aim perfectly at his comrades and shoot, one last drop of life disappearing from the world. And he was laughing; the bastard was laughing, enjoying what he has done, enjoying himself trampling all over the corpses.

The last thing Inmin sees before Renmin closes the door behind them was Teikoku's gray eyes on him, his lips in the form of a wide smile that sends shivers down his spine.

-

Inmin needed a peace of mind after the latest gathering from his mob. He takes a cigarette out from his coat's pocket, lighting it up, serving as the only source of light, the moon being covered by the clouds like a gray blanket hovering over the sky. His hair was flaked with sleet, and he shakes them off for the umpteenth time this night, sighing as he takes a load of the scenery outside of the cramped spaces he's been living in. Inmin sighs at how wondrous the buildings portray a scenic landscape in the night, the small glow of the stars trying to conjure and replicate the glow of the moon. The dim lights of each building shows silhouettes of family, friends, and couples doing something private, only for it to be broad casted by the lights inside of their home, and whatever they are doing.

Inmin did not get high of the feeling of a cigarette in his mouth, releasing a puff of smoke, watching it stretch across the sky like a wisp before it completely disappears. He wants the feeling of cannabis underneath his nose, enlightening him and making him feel like he has no problems at all, his sadness drowning away just from snorting the plant until he feels like he is happy enough to do his own thing, and then the spell wears out few hours later, leaving him weary and tired, cursing the effects.

(Of course, his comrades would decline him of his usual stash this night; he was thrashing about, swearing and making the newest members overwhelmed with his act.)

"Family...", then his only eye lights up, finally remembering what he has to do to finish the night off.

Repeating the address he promises never to step foot after they rejected his offer to help find their mother by looking for a mob that will aid them and their financial business. He remembers the shit he's said to them, as he steps on the dead cigarette stick as he runs from the edges of the city until he finds an apartment building.

He has seen the building change, all those years ago, becoming much refined, more appeasing to look, no more moldy walls and rotten would that is sure to make the whole place collapse with one slam of a door. Inmin walks towards it, steps light, not wanting anyone to be aware of his presence, of him going back to the home he deserted in search of someplace else. The eye underneath his eye patch was tingling, as if sensing he belongs here, to the family he has his eye on ever since leaving, ever since he has become an outlaw, a watcher in their lives leading and progressing on.

Inmin dips low as he watches Minguk through a window, book on his hands, and he focuses hard on the words on the large book his twin was holding, but all he can comprehend are words ever changing, flying out of the covers of the book and into the window, and he becomes disgruntled at the fact he can never do anything right, even read a goddamn title. Minguk's mouth was moving, perhaps reading and memorizing the passages in the book he was reading, coffee on the table.

_Ah_ , Inmin looks at the dark circles underneath his brother's eyes, the way his fingers would twitch when he flips to another page. _He's pulling an all-nighter again. Baegchi._

He looks through another window, seeing his _samchon_ cooking something, a small smile on his lips, eyes closed as he lets his dream over take him, back to the days where everything was alright and dandy.

Inmin sighs- nothing has changed from the last week, his family still being poor ignorant souls while he is searching for their mother, their souls giving up on the probability she is alive and well.

So he runs, to the midst of the night, the sky camouflaging him as he runs back to his mob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dàgē- big brother in Chinese
> 
> lyubov'- love in Russian
> 
> Gāisǐ de- damn it in Chinese
> 
> Baegchi- idiot
> 
> Samchon- uncle


	3. Pain, I Let The Bullets Fly, Oh Let Them Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name Guide:
> 
> Sulian- Soviet Union
> 
> Choson Inmin- North Korea
> 
> Renmin/Jung-gug- China
> 
> Minguo- Republic of China
> 
> Nippon Koku- Japan
> 
> Nippon Teikoku- Japan Empire

## New Zealand thrusts a newspaper underneath America’s nose at seven in the morning, rudely interrupting her morning coffee and general mood for the day. She can already feel an incoming headache, resonating deep inside her as her blue eyes skim the pages, resting on the featured headline. Normally she would not care for headlines and news stories, believing that she’s updated herself every so often, on cold lonely nights with a mug of steaming tea in her hands, looking down from her balcony and into the wild, breeze flowing down at her hair as she checks her phone for new inquiries and to see if there is anything that can potentially be useful to her; either for entertainment or for her job.

She furrows her brows as she reads the headlines again and again, clutching the smooth surface of the newspaper, acting like it has done something wrong to her when in reality, she was the one missing-in-action, out of the game, because she was busily fixing that god-awful broken television that kept bugging her due to the fact she could not watch all of her weekly shows last night in a bathrobe.

“What do you think of this?”, New Zealand asks his sister, quirking a brow at her direction, like she was the boss and everyone has to follow her orders.

(Technically, she _is_ the boss- from taking care of this whole department while the others had gone to their free periods and such, or to the point where her hair is in a bun and looking over at the files in alphabetical order, hoping for the morning to go easy on her.)

“I don’t know; how do you think _I_ should react?”, she replies to her brother, who shrugs a little.

“This might be our one chance on getting into Teikoku’s lair once and for all”, New Zealand replies, and he points at the picture of a man in his late thirties, dark brown eyes staring at the camera, smooth dark hair shining from the light. Manchukuo, it read. “This guy was one of his bodyguards, and now he’s got a vacant position that one of us can occupy.”

“You can take care of this; I’ll be watching.” She leans back onto her swivel chair, legs on the reception desk, boredly looking at the lights blinkering above her, the ceiling plain white and she reminds herself to actually paint this whole dull station to look more entertaining than the pieces of paper scattered around her office day and night.

“You’re going to participate in this”, Canada speaks up from where he was sitting, Vietnam in front of him, possibly talking about something important. “We need you on this case, America. Because I feel like this Teikoku case will spiral out of control due to the diabolical plans he has up his sleeve.”

America groans- Canada was using his ‘older brother’ voice (despite the fact America is older than the bastard by a few years); at times Australia would mimick his tone of voice whenever they were alone to make Kiwi and America better, but now she handles the lamp on her desk, feeling its metal surface underneath her warm palms, wanting to throw the object right at Canada’s face, wanting to hear him shout in surprise as the lamp will collide with his face. She doesn’t, though; she’ll have fun torturing him during practice.

The front door opens and like fishes swimming their way to where the food is, they turn their heads towards the swinging doors, to reveal Philip (two hours late, like he always is), with an even more eyebrow-raising surprise; he was holding a vase full of white orchids, its petals flowing softly in the rising sun before he rudely closes the doors, his face looking utterly exhausted like he’s ran a marathon, dark circles over taking the space under his eyes like it was a cosmic deity of space and his hands were trembling, perhaps forcing them to work to death and in excruciating pain, leaving them immobile as he tries to carry the light-weight vase with visible difficulty. His hair was messy and standing on ends, like he had just woken up from the soft and sweet tendrils of sleep just this morning, put on his shoddy attire (it doesn’t even look ironed; the ruffled creases is obvious) and walked from hell to work.

But everyone’s eyes weren’t on Philip looking the slightest bit ghastly or sleep-deprived despite drinking down three cups of coffee based on how rushed and fast he walks, no; their eyes were on the pale white orchids, the wind inside of the room making them bow down obedient and willing to listen to their master. The colors were ghostly, touched by a spirit from another realm, like someone had just died.

The silence was broken by Philip, who, in his coffee-blazed haze, glares at everyone. “ _What_?”

Canada was the first to recover, a smirk playin on his lips, light eyes staring at the orchids. “So, who is it?”

“Whose what?”, Philip snaps, walking towards his desk and harshly placing the vase on the table- America sees the orchids bounce, its only fluid movement of life before becoming silent once again.

“Uh, ya know”, Aussie eyes the vase again, “the orchids.”

Philip glances at the orchids, like it was the first time he acknowledges their presence as he raises a brow. “These? A friend gave them to me this morning.”

Canada’s smirk grows wider, his brows wiggling. “A ’ _friend_ ’, hm? Or perhaps… a secret admirer?”

Philip rolls his eyes, sighing. “Look, it’s not like that okay? Just… drop it.”

America blinks at the tone of curtness Philip had in his voice, especially when he starts to curse the god above to why the coffee machine is empty and _who wasted the favorite flavor of his_ , mumbling something incomprehensible before resolving to go outside, away from the eyes, to go buy somewhere.

As he opens the door to the outside world again, the sun and electrical lights made America catch on to something she did not notice a while ago.

There was a golden ring on Philip’s finger, a pattern of small words deciphered into it, its golden gleam and glow reflective throughout the sun.

“America, we _really_ need your help in this case”, Canada pleads with her again, voice soft and literally like a small boy, but she scoffs.

“Ya’ll can do that on your own”, she replies, examining her gleaming and polished nails in the light. “I’m going to be here. Watching.”

“We need you more than as a watcher”, Canada argues back, his voice becoming impatient as his strings of kindness start to loosen. “We need you on our team, to spy on enemy eyes.”

“What makes Teikoku so special anyways? He kidnap a boy’s mother- big deal. Does that make him different from other mobs that also kidnap people?”

“Well, no, not really-”

“Well you have my answer. I’m not helping, you’re on your own.”

“Will _this_ change your mind, then?”, Philip intervenes from the end of the table, holding up a small slip of paper. He walks up to America, giving her the brittle piece of evidence to why she’d volunteer onto this crazy cuckoo quest her brother had just started because he’s too compassionate to a child. She reads and rereads it, the messy and garbled writing surely belonging to Teikoku, due to his harsh lettering and vocabulary. She could just imagine him writing this message with a small smirk on his face, loving the way he would toy at the people he would crush under his shoes when the time comes.

Her eyes tell the story all by itself. Absolute boredom once she starts reading the words and language written in the letter, slowly widening in surprise and panic, the words and letters slowly murdering her on the inside, one hand letting go of the letter to hold on to her throat, as if the words are latching onto her, suffocating her with a pillow. America’s eyes of terror stare from Canada’s concerned expression to Philip’s furrowed brow.

“Where did you find this?”, America asks the one who gave her the letter, him fiddling with his pen.

“I decided to look into someone else’s files for the Teikoku case”, he says, eye averting from the audience, expression unreadable, lines clearly well-rehearsed like he has heard this question one thousand and one nights and his mouth of silver would answer words golden, words of promises, showering jewelry onto the person he is speaking to. “Tokyo, his brother.”

“He wrote his plans to his brother? Then how did it end up in Tokyo’s file?” Canada asks with a suspicious look on his face.

Philip sighs, “Look, sometimes I can hack into others’ documents; Tokyo’s letter history wasn’t secure at all, which is how I got the letter.”

“Philip asks full permission to search out the files for Teikoku’s family”, Aussie intervenes, raising his hand.

“Apparently Teikoku’s letter to Tokyo was hidden beneath another sheet of paper to the point we haven’t even noticed it”, Kiwi adds.

Philip was distractedly playing with the ring on his finger, eyes full of longing… before turning back to America. “So- are you in this or not?”

America looks back at her audience, eyes expectant, monitoring and watching her evert move. It was a choice of a lifetime; to stop Teikoku’s evil deeds before the seeds of malevolence he had planted grow over night, into a tree deep in the gardens, standung still, swaying to the beat of the winds and its leaves will become darker, shaping the forbidden fruit that Adam and Eve had eaten due to a snake’s evil treachery. America looks at the tables, its metallic state replicating her face but more distorted and highly surreal, everyone’s eyes are now melded into one being. She sighs, defeated.

“Fine, I’ll join.”

-

Koku stands outside of Teikoku’s office, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms at the same time carressing his bruise. He winces once his fingers brush the wound on his forearm, once a gash from last night now bandaged but he can still see the traces of crimson blood when he dares look at it. He’d bit his lip during the whole process of tending to his wound, trying not to glance at it because he knows that it is quite a gruesome sight, clenching his eyes closed, feeling the nurse’s hands near the wound and even above it, making him wince ever so slightly. Teikoku was there, encouraging him that everything will be fine, it was just a gash he had earned from the shattered chandelier glass.

It was obsessively itchy in the bandages, and he tries to resist scratching his forearm because _goddamn it_ the whole bandage was itchy, like hands trying hard to find his sensitive spot but ultimately failing because he is both angry and irritated. It was much better than the obliterating pain he felt when he realizes he actually has a wound on his arm.

Koku inhales and exhales; whatever the reason, he dislikes the sight of blood.

He hears his brother in his office, talking to someone on the phone in a hushed voice, always knowing when someone is at the door. Koku decides to spend his time waiting for Teikoku by rehearsing his words, clouds of words and letters forming in his head like precipitation is going to drown them all. He tries to pick his words carefully, walking on a tightrope that once he looks down he sees a dark abyss opening its mouth to engulf him wholly. He forms a coherent sentence in his mind, a cloud to his clear-headedness; he hears the squeak of a door and Koku snaps out from his thoughts.

“Koku”, comes the voice of the elder, actually tinged with surprise as he finds his younger brother, “what brings you to my room?”

Koku bites his lower lip, opening his mouth and trying to remind his brain not to stutter. “W-well, Manchukuo’s dead.”

Teikoku’s face clouds over, but instead of white cotton clouds blocking out the sun his whole face looks like a thunderstorm is brewing. “I am aware of it.”

“He has three children”, Koku continues, “I believe that they need to be notified of their father’s…”, he swallows down bile and the word ‘dead’, “passing.”

Teikoku nods, his face still settled into a deep frown. “Is that all you wish to talk to me, brother?”

Koku shivers a little, like Teikoku’s stare is stabbing into him, and he has never felt this feeling before, like the whole surrounding is now covered in ice, freezing him until he cannot move, eyes searching for a way of warmth before dying in fiery cold.

“No”, Koku fixes his hair awkwardly as a way to compose himself, “since Manchukuo is… _dead_ , I feel like what he left - aside from his children - is a vacant position for a job.”

Teikoku lifts a brow, suddenly intrigued. “A _job_.”

Koku nods, “For um… as a bodyguard for the family.”

Teikoku’s frown transforms to a thoughtful look, seemingly considering what Koku says, before looking back at his brother with a small smile on his face. “I’ll consider it; but you do the job interviews, hm?”

Koku’s face lights up, ultimately nodding- he had never received a serious responsibility before, and he now feels eager to do as his brother says. “I will, not to worry Teikoku.” Before he turns to leave, however, he looks back at him. “Where was Palau, during the dinner?”

Teikoku smiles mysteriously, hiding a secret, the snake inside of him trying to jump out. “She had a dinner date in another restaurant; she didn’t want us to disturb them, so I didn’t invite her to eat dinner with us.”

(Palau had been thoroughly as shaken as Koku was when she comes out of her car, pale as a ghost, shielding her body from her father, eyes swivelling from he to Koku. She doesn’t look like she even ate, as thin as she had once was, no joy in her body and replaced by fear clawing at her alive.

Koku had asked what happened to her date, and, her eyes flinging to Teikoku, she smiles a little before saying, “I enjoyed it.”)

Koku nods, telling his brother he will see him later during lunch, walking away from his brother and his room, hearing the door close behind him. As if the cost was clear, as if his third eye tells him that the threat has now long gone, his smile fades and turns into a small frown. His fingers linger on his wound before the little pinch of pain becomes too much for him to handle, his pacing becoming faster, shuffling his feet across the smooth tiles of floors like he is now being lifted by an angel with wings. His train of thought goes from his request to his brother to what happened last night.

Koku thinks about the catastrophe that was last night: how an unruly gang knew Teikoku’s name and wants his blood; how Manchukuo seemed to recognize one of the members; how _that_ man was seen dragging away another boy away from Teikoku; he doesn’t get why that gang targetted his brother, of all people. Perhaps of his money, he assumes, because they are one of the richest families in the city, and Teikoku’s charming grin while handling his well-tailored suit can tell him that they wish to smear his blood on his own fortune, to claim it as their own. But there was something else- the way the boy with the eye-patch tries to aim his pistol on Teikoku, wishing vengeance as he tries to shoot the bullet ready to kill him. The way Teikoku did not flinch nor look casual when he sees Manchukuo’s body, blood dripping from the hole in his head, like he expected this outcome and expected his death.

Maybe there is more to Teikoku and he is only scratching the surface.

-

America sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, tying her hair up in a bun, looking at her reflection in the bathroom’s mirror. When she tells them she actually wanted to join this wild case against Teikoku, they give her a job where she wouldn’t sit back and watch this whole disaster play out. At the very least, she isn’t going to disguise herself as a prostitute to seduce her clients, like what Canada is doing now. She takes out her compact mirror to try add a little splendor to her face, then dabbing herself with perfume to somewhat impress her brand new 'boss’, as Australia so elegantly put it.

(“Looks like you’re the one being ordered around now”, Australia snickers as he gives her a bunch of uniforms to sort out through to see which suits her the best.

America gives her brother a glare before picking out one from the pile, “I’ll have fun removing your lunch time privilages.”

Australia goes pale.)

America looks back at her reflection again, cerulean eyes making contact with its duplicate, steeling herself for what was about to come, rehearsing the words in her head and trying hard not to let Teikoku get the best of her. Of course, she reminds herself to never be nervous of Teikoku, that he is the worst of them all, a single demon escaping from hell to create an all new spawn of monsters lurking around every dark corner, a shadow to one’s eye. She takes a deep and sharp breath, applying lip balm on her lips and she gives herself a small smile, to look like nothing is wrong and everything is fine, and that she isn’t infiltrating a bastard’s home every time he isn’t looking.

America replays her role in her head, trying to clear her mind.

_Be hired as one of Teikoku’s bodyguards._

_Find evidence in his files._

_Arrest him._

_Sounds like an easy enough plan_ , America thinks to herself, the problem is whether Teikoku is smart enough to see through her.

Another reason why she did not join this whole goose chase in the first place: she indisputably is aware that Teikoku is a conniving and perceptive man- one wrong move he’ll put a bullet through her skull or do something much worse than a quick and painless death. She had met him, once; during a party by one of the highest officials in the city, intent to become allies with the richest of businessman and highest of officials.

Teikoku was the least talkative out of everyone she has ever interacted, crossing his arms and never inviting anyone to his personal space unless he is called by someone else, putting on anelegant and charming smile that wins the entire population, disregsrding his eyes; grey orbs that swirl with absolute evil and lust for power, his hands conjoining as he looks towards the surroundings with intent and ambition painted across his face, waiting for the right moment to strike like he was a lion waiting for the prey to be surrounded to jump out from their hiding and tear its food apart, piece by piece, grinding its teeth to their flesh as they squeal and scream and kick but the grip is firm, until their screams die and their hearts will stop, knowing that this was the end of their existence.

America refuses to remember the way he looked at her, the way he looked at the other women from a distance, smiling wickedly ever so slightly, a smirk on his face, glass of wine in his palms, studying its contents.

America looks back at the mirror, giving herself another confident smile, before stalking out from the bathroom and into the fatal situation that she has gotten herself into, with no way back unless it’s through Teikoku’s head.

-

Canada has never been to a brothel before.

(Well, if he counts those times his father tried to get him to loosen up a bit and lose his virginity to strangers unknown to him. He declined his father’s offers, knowing that he should save his virtue for someone special, but later that night he made the mistake of letting someone into their house in a drunken haze, his room smelling of honey and lemon for days.)

He opens his phone to send Aussie and Kiwi a message, that he was already in front of Teikoku’s very own brothel and house for prostitution, ’ _The Comfort Zone_ ’, as he so elegantly put it.

(He can see why it is called like that; providing comfort and sweet sweet lust to the clients paying for a cheap fuck or two, but for the prostitutes being forced to work in this place they are stuck in the deepest pits of hell, forcefully playing the game of lust with their customers, knowing they don’t enjoy it, and never will.)

Canada takes his time pacing at the entrace, trying to make himself look unrecognizable and obscure from the cameras littering around the place, covering himself, trying to look unrecognizable through the blur of the mobitoring and predating cameras littered around the whole place, fixing his hair, making himself look less more of an officer and more as an awkward and newcomer looking for a quick fuck like their stored lust has now been unleashed.

But for the first time in his life, he isn’t looking forward to get laid.

He needed answers and evidence to destroy Teikoku and his family once and for all, ridding the world once more of life that taints blood with inklings of darkness, first small drops like a rain before the storm hits, before the thunder claps and the lightning flashes and strikes across the sky, until it becomes a downpour but instead of drying once their old enemy the sun is shining ever so brightly and radiantly, they dry until nothing is left but their ghosts.

Taking a deep breath, he walks in.

-

Renmin wakes up feeling warm, either from the sun escaping through the barriers that is the windows and curtains, the soft blanket covering his waist down, or Sulian’s warm arms wrapping around him. He can feel Sulian’s breath on his neck, the way his lover’s chest rises and falls like the beat of his heart, eyes closed and lips parted, as if expecting a kiss from the deepest tendrils of sleep, waiting for someone, anyone, to wake him up with a touch on the lips. Renmin just smiles, of course; nothing had ruined his peaceful morning with Sulian, their night ecstatic and amazing, each of their kisses giving them more and more warmth until it burnt on their skin and lips like forging the flames of a dying sun. He carefully carresses the man in front of him, his lover, on the cheek, feeling the softness of the skin from a hardenned man, always in for battles, but never displaying affection.

Except for him.

The warm arms enveloping him pushes his bare body, only flesh and no clothing, closer to Sulian’s chest, shirt ruffled and tattered from last night’s latest game for naught. Renmin sighs once again, putting his arms around Sulian’s much larger and bulkier body, cuddling himself closer in his chest.

They can stay like this forever; time standing still, stopping them from doing anything, no one disturbing them, an unbreakable glass dome around the couple, serene and sturdy, letting them rest until they grow old and die, thus ending their small string of love, cut by fate.

Of course, nothing can last forever- he hears Sulian groan, a sign he has roughly been disrupted from his peaceful sleep and is brought back to the nightmare that is his life, and his dream that is Renmin, smiling back at him. He opens his amber eye, taking in his surroundings like he was in an unfamiliar setting with no way back, until his eyes find Renmin’s, body entangled in a mass of blankets and his arms, smiling a little back at him. Sulian smiles as well, feeling his day become better just by looking at the star near him, brightening like a damned solar flare, until burning out and becoming mortal like the rest of the universe.

Renmin feels a kiss on top of his forehead, a kiss of love burning through his head like the bullet he embedded on his own brother’s forehead, no sense of remorse, and no time for such rushed reunions.

All he needed was Sulian, and that is the objective that makes his heart melt.

“ _Zaoshang hao_ ”, he greets, as he feels the arms around him stretch and Sulian yawning. He feels another kiss on his forehead, then on his lips, short but brilliant, making him feel at home.

“Morning, _lyubov_ ”, Soviet greets back, still entranced from sleep. Renmin chuckles as Sulian once again puts his arms around him, bringing him closer. “I have been dreaming about you.”

Renmin smells the sweat and blood on his shirt, sighing a little. “As you should.”

They stay like this once again, the entire world against their union and against their love for one another, but they too, hate what the world has given them and wish to correct the perspective given to them. Minguo had made the same mistake, trying to tear them apart to keep his younger brother loyal, but in the end he lost one ally to another.

He can feel old grudges rising inside of him, remembering Minguo’s red face once he says he was in an alliance with Sulian’s gang, remembering the way his older brother’s hands were up on his throat, choking and suffocating him, depriving the boy of needed air to sustain himself and one hand crawling up until it reaches his eye, and as Renmin cries and screams and kicks and pleads with Minguo, begging for forgiveness, but like a doctor’s scalpel digging into one’s flesh to draw out blood, the fingers plunging into his sockets and ripping his eye out like it was nothing but a toy stuck and wedged into the wall, the hands stubbornly never giving up on its onslaught until at last they finally meet their goal. A hand unconsciously comes towards the wounded eye, a raw flavor on what those wars have done to him.

A sigh comes from Sulian- not one of disappointment but a pitying one. “Thinking about Minguo again?”

Renmin snuggles a little more into him, “Well, sort of. It’s been a decade and I still haven’t found him.”

Amber eyes melt into gold. “Is it because of your meeting with Manchukuo last night?”

Renmin fixes his hair, staring at the ceiling. “Well, yes; we’re all aware that he works for that bastard man now, but to see him again… it just made me feel strange.”

“Perhaps from the fact I murdered your own blood?”

Renmin snorts, “Oh _please_ \- I’d care less about family who’s rejected me lying down in front of me dead.” He kisses Sulian again, feeling a hand on his back to elongate and deepen their passion, until seconds later Sulian lets him go, light in his eyes.

“Let’s go eat breakfast, then”, Sulian says, getting up, his waist below covered by the covers until he stands, looking for his clothes, leaving Renmin to monitor his back, feeling his skin prick with more passion.

They were late for breakfast, of course; breathless and messy hair, clothes absolutely falling down like they had a small quick fuck (of course they did) before walking out of the hall and in absolute bliss, the members of their small mob knowing what they’d just done but never commenting, preferring to be as silent as the lambs than scarring themselves with what the couple does in bed. Breakfast, like all other periods of feeding members, were quiet, hushed voices the only one trying to tap on the window of silence, as everyone clinks on their plates, eating in small and rhythmic bites to savor their meals and their energy for another day. Some were not eating and instead having a conversation with their friends; some were smoking outside with a cup of coffee as their meal; and some - like Inmin - were busily scheming silently.

Inmin was one of their youngest members- recruited at the mere age of thirteen just to find his mother in the darkest corners, going through desperate measures to find her. He was a young and naïve boy, once upon a time; a small smile on his face, amber eyes full of fractured innocence, ready to be used for one’s advantage, to be played with until his innocence shatters. He had lived happily with his family from beyond, but his desperation to find his mother made him and his twin drift apart, a single dust speck in the winds. Madness came to him like a swift wind dealing with a tree trying to stand during a storm- an explosion had racked the boy’s nerves one day, and a shard had scarred him for life, maming contact with his eye. When he wakes up from his slumber, he was hysterical, blaming his family and everything for what has happened to him.

Inmin remains silent but at the same time vocal to this day.

Sulian tells Renmin that he was going to get them breakfast, and Renmin swivels around towards Inmin’s table, only one person sitting on it, never eating, thin but able, holding a newspaper, and, judging by his face, once again exercising himself to read the printed words. Once he senses Renmin near him, however, he stops trying to read.

“ _Joh-eun achim, Jung-gug_ ”, Inmin says with a small voice, hoarse from last nights shouting and screaming and crying about how they were close, so close to getting Teikoku. He turns back to the newspaper. “I’ve reread the same page over and over but the only thing I can understand is - well - your brother’s death.”

Renmin nods, taking the newspaper from Inmin’s hands and reading the section of Manchukuo’s death. His eyes skim the page, paragraph by paragraph, until he freezes, his eyes flying wide as his entire blood runs cold. If Sulian had given him a cup of coffee earlier, he would’ve spat out the bitter and hot liquid before dropping it on to the floor.

Inmin seems to sense his discomfort, and he blinks and asks, “Are you alright?”

Renmin does not reply, looking at the last paragraph about Manchukuo’s death, the photo of his dead older half-brother haunting him, like he came back just to mock Renmin.

**The death of Manchukuo was hard for his boss, Teikoku, who says that Manchukuo was a loyal friend in the end, and to his three children, Heilongjiang, Jilin and Liaoning, who were waiting for their father to come home until Teikoku breaks the news to the three orphaned kids.**

_“He had children_ ”, he says in a small voice, barely a whisper. He can feel the whole world once again laughing at him, noticing his horrible decision when he let Sulian go in for the kill. Of his brother. Of a father. A father of three small children, oblivious to the matters of death and are now paying their father’s price.

“Do you feel guilty of the fact that I murdered someone with three children on his shoulders?”, Sulian asks from behind, making Renmin jolt from surprise as he turns and faces Sulian, two pairs of plates with meals and two cups of coffee, juggling them in each hand. His eyes were on the printed words, while Renmin’s were on his shoes, feeling ugly guilt churning inside of him, a feeling he had not felt ever since he sees Nanjing being dragged by Teikoku but never doing anything about it, because that was Minguo’s responsibility but he did not see him look for his wife, having disappeared to thin air. His hand shakes a little, like the whole world had gone cold, creeping up from the wake of the warmth of the fireplace until it catches him by surprise, freezing him alive. A little sprinkle of sadness, then of guilt, was enough for him to suffocate of his deeds.

But he sucks that up; he did not have any time to cry or mourn Manchukuo’s death, knowing he is nothing but a hindrance now gone from his life. He looks at Sulian straight in the eye, who was trying to test his composure, wanting to see him cry.

There is less time for humility and more time for pride.

He smiles pleasantly, “No, not even a bit.”

-

America makes her way through Teikoku’s halls, being escorted by his half-brother - Koku, she reminds herself - who was waiting for a flood of people coming to their home for a new job but only she arrives. She remembers the way Koku was fidgeting in the entrance, pacing back and forth, rehearsing speeches to himself all the while fixing his hair to look nice in front of an audience. The way he smiled at her as she approaches, was like the sun had become brighter and stronger, flares scorching from his veins but instead of malevolence the smile is genuine and happy, unlike Teikoku’s. The way he shook her hand, like he was eager to meet her, as if he has been closed off from the world and has only ever interacted with his family.

(According to his records, Koku was home-schooled by Teikoku; maybe that is why he seemed so happy yet awkward to interact with someone outside his family.)

The halls were lit by small lamps on the walls, giving the white paint a sort of radiant yet looming energy, a candle dancing with the flames on its head to give their surroundings a better light. She looks at the floors, patterned tiles sounding as she steps on them with her heels, looking at Koku who was humming to himself as he busily stares ahead. She keeps her head low, but looking at the long halls until they reach the intersection where the halls end into dozens of rooms, railways of patterns around them.

“Just continue following me, we’re almost there”, Koku tells her, and she looks back at him, dark hair smoothed out, gray eyes sparkling and glinting.

She thinks that, despite the fact they are half-brothers, their resemblance is uncanny, and not even Tokyo can be compared to how similar they both are. Perhaps the only difference is the air around them; Teikoku presents himself as a meteor that is slowly looming closer out of the naked eye until its impact cannot be stopped and it shakes the entire world, while Koku was a small comet, passing by in a wink of an eye.

Even his voice enchants her a little, just a _little_ \- she reminds herself he is just like his brother, his innocent demeanor a ruse to let her guard down until he leaves her to rot in a hole.

She is wary of how unusually calm and somewhat bright behavior is odd for someone who was caught in a crossfire last night. She eyes the bandaged wound on his forearm, a red crimson hue surrounding the gauze. She and Koku go through the dark hallways again, seeing the entire house so… huge yet monochrome, blank walls as if eyes can escape through its blank stare, looking at her suspiciously, knowing of her intentions of goal. Koku stops at a large door, mahogany penetrated for patterns as he unlocks it and ushers her in.

Like the walls from the hallways, this was painted a lonely white, sorrow surrounding her, eating her whole slowly but surely, and she turns back to her guide who was busily arranging some things out of the way.

“Sorry about this room, it’s the only vacant one in the house”, he finally says after a while of arranging chairs. He looks back at her, tilting his head, “well, if you accept or get this job, you can have this room.”

America shakes her head, plastering a small smile, “No, I’d rather stay with my family.”

Koku nods, no malice or grudge hidden in his eyes. “I’d understand; I wouldn’t want to be separated from my family as well.”

With a content smile on his face, he asks, “What’s your name and do you have any family members?”

“My name’s America”, she replies coolly, leaning back on her chair like it’s the end of the world, “my father was England, I don’t know my mother, and I have three brothers.” Her eyes turn from the windows featuring the blue skies to Koku’s thoughtful face, magnetized by how the creases of his brow fade whenever he raises his eyebrows, the tongue sticking from the edge of his lip like a small child trying to make something out of his own sweat and tears, determined to impress their parent.

Koku’s gray eyes meet hers and he gives her a small smile and her cheeks color, heart beating just a little faster than it was before. She shakes herself out of it, playing on a strand of her hair, averting her gaze from Koku like a dazed school girl. Her mind reminds her smitten heart that he is a mission, bait for her demise, knowing he’s only pretending to be her companion until she makes the wrong move.

“Why do you want to apply to become a bodyguard?”

“The news last night was quite a surprise, to be honest.” She picks at her words on the platter, calmly choosing them with one finger to lead her on until she gets the job. “An experienced bodyguard, of one of the most powerful businessmen, killed by a lover of a mob boss… I don’t like mafia mobs, you see. They took my father away and they, well…” She leans closer to him, getting the boy in front of her, just a teen, invested. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, of course.”

Her cerulean eyes meet with Koku’s gray ones, her fingers lingering on his larger but smoother hands a little, playing with him, even if it means seducing him to get this job because at the very least, he is not his brother. She blinks at him, trying to look innocent, a damsel wanting to save him from the bandits who’d run his castle dry. He goes entirely red, America feeling his hands shake.

“I-I…”, he sputters, hormones raging deep inside him whilst America smiles at him, a devil in Eve’s clothes. “I a-appreciate your concern, but I don’t need protection.”

America feigns surprise and hurt, her eyes twinkling more with pure unaldurated lust and desire for Koku. “Oh? Even if you say you’re protected by Teikoku, he’ll never be always there for you, always busy and away for his work.” They are now a small distance apart, their lips almost touching if America would lean a little more, looking at Koku’s lips, entranced before going back to her job. _“I_ would always be there.”

Koku gulps, slow and short. “I…”

America smirks a little, licking her lips, “The choice is entirely yours, of course; if you’d like me to work undeterred in your home, or you can kindly send me on my way.”

Koku hesitates; his hands fidget as his gray eyes go from her then to the window and then back to America, her legs crossed and owning a straight face, lips tingling. It was as if the entire world has gifted him a mysterious box, letting him decide whether he should open it without knowing the cost, or if he should ignore it, trying to disregard the feelings of temptation and curiosity burning up inside of him and live through another day of debating whether he should or should not open the box. America wants to laugh; Koku’s face looks like a mix of a small child and an old man facing a choice that will decide his fate, but her heart is still beating in a fast pace, but she assumes it was from hoping he’d accept her than how completely cute he was in that expression, hair covering a small side of his face.

The silence between them was a cloud of wisps, blowing ever so hard in their direction, in love with teasing the both of them, making the both of them feel antsy outside of their own comfortable space.

“My brother _did_ say it was up to me whether or not I should hire you”, Koku finally says, making America perk up. “So… I feel like hiring you would be a good choice.”

America smirks deviously, but she turns back to him who was smiling brightly and holding out a hand. She hesitantly takes it, warmth suddenly surging up from the hand touching her hands and into every part of her body, energizing her to continue with this tomfoolery they had assigned to her. She gasps a little, like this sensation is always there, she just refuses to search the inner depths of her mind for this beautiful yet bamboozling feeling. Her mind is jumbled, playing a sweet and soft melody, her eyes seeing the stars.

But once Koku retracts his hand from her grasp, she feels the warm walls around her, making her as cozy as she is in a fireplace, crash into her with cold arms, her mind goes back to the plan.

“You’ve made the right choice”, America assures Koku, who chuckles a little, making the woman in front of him - once again - frozen in place, time standing still as she awkwardly fidgets with her hands; why is she so… awkward whenever Koku does one small move of happiness? This is normally what a lot of people do, laugh whenever there is something funny to laugh at, but for Koku, his laugh… it was like the stars were twinkling above her, showing her the way.

“You should come with me, I’ll break the news to my brother about your hiring.”

Her blood runs cold.

-

The whole city was cold during the night- it had just rained the afternoon before the sun’s flares had died and gave the light to the moon, now glaring down at her with its soft light, not guiding her into beyond but watching her with its eyes, the craters all seemingly moving like they are irises. She breathes in a little, shivering from the cold, and how horribly revealing her clothes are for this temperature. She shudders as another gust of wind blows out of nowhere, like a kiss on her skin growing to become prickly thorns. Her heels were worn from walking around the city too much, holding the satchel the stranger had given to her tightly before she was freed from the infernal pits of hell, the room more like a prison cell despite the fact that it looks more like a suite than anything she has seen in her entire life.

She can still remember the arms, searching her, roaming on her small figure as they try and take what they want from her, pinning her to the soft matress of the bed, becoming her worst enemy, back flat against its soft yet sharp underneath her. She used to kick and scream, trying to get them away from her, that this wasn’t the job she wanted and that she used to be so much more, so much valuable than being one prostitute on Street Number Sixty-Three. Shanghai recalled those disgustingly fake sweet voices, calling her petnames as they touched her, their voices lingering before disintegrating; she has been called those and hated every single one of it.

But that was before.

Before she decided to play their game, become Teikoku’s sweet little seductress, meek and submissive while retaining her seduction, charm and wit, easily making her a fan favorite.

Shanghai did not want this, nor did she care becoming a different person from who she was, but Teikoku made her like this. He broke her apart, piece by piece, putting out the only shards that he liked on her. He broke her, bones and mirrors and all.

She huddles around the jacket the stranger had given her once more, as she fusses with the satchel, feeling the rolls of money he gave to her, the canned goods enough to last her a week or two if she rationed it just enough. The jacket was her only layer of clothing from the cold and protecting her body due to only wearing lingerie once he ushers her out from her window and into the bustling city she had not touched but only watched for years. Shanghai would remember sticking her head out of the windows to feel the breeze and wind of being free, having freedom she used to have before she was locked up in a cage with no return to the wilderness. She had seen - with her very own eyes - everything change, innovations and technology happening here and there, the shapes on her eyes becoming taller, wider, larger, but even then, when the entire world is on the brink of collapse, she can find solace at the fact that nothing is changing, even if they are forcing her eyes wide open to the surroundings around her.

Shanghai steps on a puddle, immediately soaking her heels much to her grimace, looking at the lamposts littered around the street, luminating small pieces of the concrete road, as if they are trying hard to battle the darkness during the night, yet they are failing because of course they are. She decides to think of _where_ to stay, but her mind comes up blank.

The police department? Absolutely not. She had her fair share of clients boasting that they are in high-ranking positions such as catching crime and putting them in jail. How can they be good men when even they clutch the treasures of corruption, perhaps even wanting to undress her as they work with their higher-ups and telling them they can handle her, but instead they’d put her in the backseat of the car and drive her back to the brothel and take advantage of her and her body-

She shakes her head, shedding a single tear in her eye.

No to the police department, then.

Shanghai tries to remember the old house she and her old members used to share, either dead or had gone through the same fate as she did, becoming slaves for Teikoku, grovelling and begging for him to feed them, even the tiniest bit. The house must probably only be standing in their own minds now, ever since Minguo vanished into thin air one night, no news of where he went, but she knows he is a coward who never became their saving grace. He chooses to hide his wings of darkness in favor of running away, never to come back because he is now just a mortal with nothing on his shoulders.

She frowns a little, thinking about the last time she saw Minguo, exchanging fires with his own brother before she is knocked over the head.

She then feels a tap on her shoulder, and she lets out a small shriek that pierces through the whispering night, jumping and stumbling until she trips on the road; thanfully the jacket was soft enough to land on and act as her cushion.

“Oh dear; I am _so_ sorry.” A man’s voice says from behind her, and panic rises from her chest as she knows she will now have to deal with another man being shoved into her life and for her to play games. She feels the damp road beneath her, and she gets up, slipping a little before a hand catches her wrist.

Shanghai freezes up from the sudden touch and she inches away from the newcomer and sees that it was a man, business suit and smooth dark hair, blue eyes full of concern.

(She does not know whether it is genuine or he is feigning concern- she has learned never to trust anyone again.)

“Are you lost?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if someone got the symbolism TELL ME


	4. All The Sinners Stand Up Say Hallelujah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name Guide:
> 
> Daehan Minguk- South Korea
> 
> Choson Inmin- North Korea
> 
> Daehan Imsi- Korean Provisional Government
> 
> Koku Nippon- Japan
> 
> Teikoku Nippon- Japan Empire

"Are you lost? Do you need help?", the stranger repeats his question once again, taking a step closer to the woman clad in the large jacket, taking every bit of her skin; goosebumps were rising all around her skin, prickling at her as she becomes even colder than the North and South Pole themselves, their blizzards not a match for the ice-cold and frozen skin she already has, faced with another man perhaps luring her in to his trap.

She had learned a long time ago never to trust eyes- they have become so genuine and easily traced to the point she is now in a lying snake's trap, the snake slithering closer to her, eyes flickering with hunger, tongue flicking.

She stays silent, a fish in the water, waiting for the trespasser to leave, his silhouette clear in the dark depths of the water, eyes blank and observing.

"What's your name?", he was quite insistent, his slimy and grabby fingers making its way back to his body, head tilted to the side and with a general concerned look, and she could not help but think when this man was going to lose his patience and walk off, leaving her alone in this nightly realm. "Do you want to go to the police department?"

She freezes up once again, standing back, shaking like the water has been hit by a stone for skipping and circles rock back and forth from the water, expanding and expanding until it dies down and once again, it is back to its old and tranquil past.

"I'll take that as a no", the man notes, his tone somewhat understanding and sympathetic- it was not out of the blue for someone to reflect their so-called genuine emotions, but like everyone she had met in her entire life, their eyes hide another layer of deceit that will come once they have laid in their trap.

Shanghai shivers, either of the fact that another strong breeze flies right through her and she snuggles into the limited warmth of the coat, or because the man is still standing in front of her and staring at her with such intensity to the point she wanted to burn him alive with her own eyes. He was still staring at her with such concern that it burns her flesh bit by bit, his stare full of intensity echoing within her. She keeps her distance to the stranger, and he seems not to go near her personal space, the both of them having a silent standoff in her point of view.

Then, as if the gods were against her well-being and general lack of understanding the situation she is in right now, something small but cold drops on her nose, and she blinks a little.

Then another drop, small and minuscule, unseen, but she knows the feeling of its wetness and what was about to come.

More drops fall down from the dark sky, unsure whether it was crying and mourning as more and more drops fall from the grey clouds above. A shower starts, the intensity of the drizzle increasing, the small droplets creating sounds once they hit roofs until a spasm of tiny droplets hit the ground and hit the two who were still not covering themselves.

Shanghai had missed seeing the rain, witnessing its moistness on her skin, the way it makes her feel even colder as another blizzard-like wind passes her direction, and she stares at the rain, ignoring the way the drops fall on her until she was mostly wet.

She hears the sound of an umbrella being opened, and hearing the patter of rain drops colliding with the leather skin; she does not feel the wet drops on her anymore.

Puzzled, she turns around to find the man holding out the umbrella to shield her from the rain drops, ignoring the steadfast drizzle that is now falling on him with a torrent of emotions, either from the great sky above them desolate and desperate to have someone comfort them to the ends of all time, their skin spreading onto space and enveloping the whole world into the same sadness the night sky experience or they are crying tears of joy because space and earth will never touch again.

"Why don't you come to my house?" Time stops as her eyes meet the man's again, still swirling with sincerity and worry for her welfare, she stands back a little once again, never uttering a single word, still wary of what he wants from her. He laughs a little, smoothing his already wet dark hair awkwardly, "Oh right, we technically _are_ strangers. My name's Daehan Imsi, but you can call me Imsi. You are?"

Shanghai takes a moment to stare at his now drenched suit, one hand holding the umbrella used to shield her from the rain and keep her dry, to his hand still holding his suitcase dripping water, knuckles turning white, and to his face, awkward smile intact. She must have been staring for a minute or so, since Imsi visibly deflates and sighs a little.

"I'm sorry for taking so much of your time", he says with a small sigh. "I will be leaving now, you can have my umbrella." He gives his umbrella to Shanghai's open hand, their fingers touching (much to the woman's panic in thinking he'll do something else), turning his back on her as he starts to walk away.

She then feels a raw sound come from her throat, emotions increasing.

"Wait", she chokes, and Imsi stops walking. "My name is Shanghai."

Imsi smiles a little, "Nice to meet you, Shanghai."

She follows him to his home, like an obedient dog following its master because it cannot walk on its four paws without a guide, hands on the dog's leash as their owner treats them like a slave, yanking their leashes and letting the pet's collars suffocate their throats as they forcefully drag them away. She silently keeps her head down, passive as her eyes watch the damp and moist ground being disturbed by the sound of her heels making noises in the silent night. Her eyes linger to Imsi's back shyly, coat draped over his head as the soft drizzle pitter-patters over the rooftops and buildings, as she holds the umbrella he offered to her earlier.

"Almost there, not to worry." Imsi turns his head to look at Shanghai, who averts her gaze from Imsi and back to the floors.

They continue to walk, never a chore for Shanghai, because at the very least she can remember that she was not following Teikoku and another client to a room, because it was a short walk from doomsday and from her companions, all looking tense and worried for her. This was a long walk to the so-called house which will house her and make her feel at home, until the man shoves her into his room and locks the door.

He stops abruptly, and she keeps her distance, looking down before her eyes glance at the building in front of her; a small apartment building, the first floor in use. Imsi continues to walk, looking at the windows as Shanghai slowly catches up with him, still cautious of his intentions and reasons of bringing her here to his abode.

(She closes the umbrella and puts it on the proper place, trying to dry the leathery shield herself before putting the umbrella on the corner of the door.)

"Ah, Minguk is home", he mutters under his breath, opening the door, and much to Shanghai's slight surprise, he holds the door wide for her to enter. She looks at Imsi for a while, before immediately going inside his home, hearing the door close behind him, stopping for a while to hear him locking the door, but all she hears is him complaining about his drenched suit.

Imsi did not question Shanghai stopping for a moment, as he walks past her and into the living room shared by their small dining table and kitchen. She follows Imsi, and sees a young boy seated on one of the sits of the dining table, pen in his hand, tongue sticking out of his mouth, dark blue eyes fixated on the page of the book, hair decrepitly messy but looking dyed in the fringes. He had dark circles underneath his eyes, and she assumes he got it from studying all night.

The boy looks up from the book and sees Imsi, and then his eyes go to Shanghai, who was now fussing further up her jacket.

"Who's that?", he curtly snaps at Imsi, who was busily taking out his shoes and socks, which were also damp. Imsi gives him a glare.

"Mind your manners and words, Minguk", he warns, and turns to look at Shanghai, who was still in the abnormally large jacket, and with caring words, "and you can put that away now."

Shanghai shakes her head, hiding herself more in the coat, despite the fact warmth was basking on the skin she was revealing, the light and air around her like the summer heat she used to experience along time ago, and especially in the bed, but instead of feeling skin colliding against hers and caressing her most intimate parts she feels nothing but the shaking of her body.

Imsi blinks, "Ah, alright then."

Minguk gets up from the table, narrowing his eyes towards Shanghai, suspicion evident. "Why did you pick up a woman on the streets again, _samchon_?"

Shanghai freezes, perking her head up as her heart starts to beat, remembering the times Teikoku would ultimately humiliate her by making her wait for her client who is driving a car, holding her by the hair as she tries covering her bare body, the only covers her undergarments. She feels tears pinprick her eyes as she feels Teikoku's hands on her, his hand on her thigh rising higher and higher, until a car skids to a stop right in front of them and Teikoku pushes her in, a smirk forming on his face.

"Miss Shanghai, _joesong haeyo_ about my nephew's clear insensitivity", he tells the woman behind him with a sheepish look, then glares at his nephew, "she is a guest in our home. I suggest you treat her with respect."

Minguk purses his lips, glaring at an irritated and wet Imsi and a shaking and freezing Shanghai, "She might be hiding something from us if she refuses to take that off."

"Have some humility, Minguk!", Imsi berates him, raising his voice a little, "she is a guest!"

"She may be, but I'm not taking my chances, _samchon_ ", Minguk replies, still glaring daggers that can pierce her skin any moment, feeling the same chill as she had whenever Teikoku is around. "She's hiding something and I'm not taking any chances."

"You need to learn respect, Minguk", Imsi retorts, "your parents raised you better than this. Your _Mother_ raised you better than this."

Once he mentions the word 'Mother', Minguk's eyes widen as his whole body goes slack, pen on his hand dropping down the floors, making a small sound. It was as if he had insulted the deepest depths of his insides, turning the situation against him. Minguk sits back down, an unreadable expression on his face, staring at Imsi.

Imsi blinks, finally realising his tone and absolutely regretting what he had said, wanting to reach out to Minguk once again but ultimately shutting down that part of him by saying,

"I'll go make food for all of us, then." He looks at Shanghai, "make yourself at home and comfortable; I will be making our dinner." With soaked clothes he stalks into the kitchen, like it was a daily occurrence that he would stalk into the kitchen wet from the polluted rain absorbing into his skin. He turns the stove on, and from across the room Shanghai watches the flames rise, kindling with orange, blue and yellow hues, swaying with the air like wild flowers.

Shanghai takes in her surroundings; the ticking of a small wall clock, the dim lights that might flicker in and out once it fades fast enough, the walls cheaply painted white, noticing how they peel off quickly like they had no devotion to keeping the entire apartment neat, and a large book case overtaking most of the living space, the television beside it being crammed. She turns to look at the small chairs and sofas near the front door, and Minguk glaring right as her as he works.

She sits down on sofa, crossing her legs, fidgeting with her hands as her eyes stare at the books and their worn spines, wishing to take one of them away from the spiffy and nifty book case, her fingers tingling in anticipation, wishing to hold another book once again in her life, remembering the sentences and paragraphs, building towers and walls around herself as she buries her nose more into the pages, wishing to browse and review their words like there was no tomorrow.

"Minguk, you _really_ need to learn how to cook", Imsi says from the kitchen, still making their dinner.

"I would be a shit cook though", Minguk replies casually as he flips to another page of his workbook, humming a small song in his mind.

"Your mouth, Minguk." Imsi goes back to drowning the whole apartment in silence and sizzling meals, hearing boiling and the kettle whistling, but Shanghai still stares at the books, hunger in her eyes. Her fingers are already yearning to touch something other than the soft covers of the bed, the sweaty and heated skin of another person, or even her own, not wishing to touch anything else before she gets a single book under her nose. The woman seated on the couch hears plates being arranged on the dining table, glasses clinking with a small lingering melody.

"It's time for dinner", Imsi says in an obvious tone, as he - wearing mittens - putting a few steaming and smoking pots down on the table. Shanghai tries to ignore the sweet smell of the meals offered, trying to keep quiet and play the little pearl swallowed by a giant clam, but her hunger is being tempted and rhiddled by the food, and she tries not to give in despite the fact her stomach felt like she was being whipped, harder and harder before she joins them, sitting the furthest from the uncle and nephew duo.

She eyes the three bowls being picked on by Minguk and Imsi and, as if the latter had read her mind, he slides the last bibimpap bowl to the lady, and she tentatively looks at Imsi, who nods before going to his meal. (She stares at it a little, thinking if it is laced with drugs that will either stimulate her for sex or make her slumber as they quickly undress her.) Minguk was staring at her as he picks on his food, absent-mindedly getting food scraps on himself before Imsi scolds him and his eyes plunge back to his meal hungrily.

Shanghai is hungry, of course; but that does not mean she cannot control herself from resisting more of her hunger's desire, to keep eating until she falls dead. After devouring the bibimpap bowl she thanks Imsi quietly for the food before sliding back down the cushions of the sofa, back to eyeing the books on the book case.

(She tries to feel if there are any side effects to what she just ate- she does feel sleepy and exhausted but perhaps it was due to the fact she'd been walking through the entire city since she was set free, though she does not feel the absolute need and want to do such lustful actions.

At the moment, of course.)

"Go to bed now, Minguk", Imsi mothers his nephew, his face looking like he is holding back a yawn in the very moment. "You have a test tomorrow morning."

"Which means I have to study, _samchon_ ", Minguk argues back. His eyes return to Shanghai, quietly and obediently seated like a dog, "And I can't leave her alone in the living room, don't I?"

"Minguk, for the last time..."

" _Samchon_ , sometimes you trust in strangers too much. _Eomma_ and _Appa_ had trusted strangers too. Look what happened to the both of them." There was a hint of sadness in the teen's voice, like he was trying to keep it together because the whole world will fall apart once he shows his sadness. His voice hardens as he continues, but there was a hint of longing and desperation in them. "Inmin trusted in strangers more than he trusted his own family. He up and left us, joining some unruly gang in the depths of the sewers."

Shanghai perks up at the mention of a gang, wanting to know more behind the story Minguk was trying to distort to prove a point to his uncle, who was staring at him, lips pursed, eyes billowing with such intensity, the gears in his mind trying to spin.

"Minguk. Go to bed." Imsi's tone was cold and hard, but his voice was also cracking like someone had made the wrong step on a frozen river and tries to escape, in which it resolves to more cracks. "That is enough disrespect from you, young man. This is your final warning. Go. To. Bed."

Minguk gets up from his chair abruptly, taking his phone and books with him as he stalks to his room, throwing one last suspicious glare to Shanghai's way. As he closes the door, Imsi visibly deflates, shoulders slumping as he looks back at Shanghai, silently watching him, wariness in her eyes.

"I apologize for my nephew's manners." Imsi sighs as he rakes his still damp hair with his fingers. Shanghai did not open her mouth to say anything, having lost the energy after she did speak to the stranger in front of her. "He is quite a conspirer, that one. Not as much as his brother though, yes." Imsi's face cloud over, as if walking through a memory. "Inmin was... _creative_."

Shanghai wants to ask who Inmin is - or was - but her tongue is tied, leg crossed and hands on her lap, staring at Imsi cautiously.

"But I caught you staring at my book case", Imsi changes the topic, tone a little too bright. "Did any title catch your eye, specifically?"

She blinks a little, unresponsive for a moment, before raising her pointer finger towards the book on the top most shelf, and his eyes follow her finger. His eyes widen in realisation as he reaches up to take one book from the case, brushing some little specks of dust from its covers.

" _Othello_ ", Imsi reads the title out loud, before smiling at Shanghai (not with perversion, but more of a genuine smile), "you like Shakespere's works? Is this your favourite?"

She nods, and Imsi offers her the book in his hands, and she hesitantly extracts them from Imsi's hands, but his colder fingers brush hers like she had accidentally touched a thorn on a rose bush and she widens her eyes, dropping the book to the ground, looking at Imsi with horror.

Imsi stares at the book on the floor, then at Shanghai, who was now shaking. He clears his throat, clearly aware of how awkward this situation is. "Well, it is night time after all. Are you tired?"

Shanghai slowly nods.

"We have a vacant room, next to Minguk", Imsi says, his face once again clouding. "It was once Inmin's... you're free to stay here as long as you like."

Shanghai blinks, surprise evident in her eyes.

Receiving no reply, Imsi takes the book from the floor and puts it beside her, her eyes looking at its cover before going back to Imsi.

"I can lend you some clothes, if you'd like", Imsi tilts his head, "we seem to be the same height. Hold on, I'll be right back." He goes into his room- Shanghai hears his wardrobe open and a few mutters of assent, before shortly going back to Shanghai. "I hope these fit you." She takes the clothes he had given to her, looking at them and back at Imsi. "Oh, of course. Well then, I bid you goodnight, Miss Shanghai."

He turns to leave-

"Thank you", Shanghai softly says, just reaching Imsi's ears. He looks at her with a tender look, something she had not seen from anyone other than her sisters in the brothels.

" _Cheonman-eyo_ ", he leaves her alone for the night, and suddenly she misses his company, not in a desiring way but in a pleasant and understanding way.

-

Earlier that afternoon, it was raining despite the fact a while ago when America had walked in Teikoku's home, wishing to infiltrate it on the inside like she's a bomb waiting to explode.

Right now, she is trying not to explode, as she swallows a lump in her throat, following Koku to the lion's den, its king sitting on a throne of bones. She takes a deep, collective sigh, trying to calm her beating heart, which is now echoing in the walls of her rib cage.

A finger brushes her hand, her world plunging back to the boy beside her as they walk.

"You seem anxious", Koku says brightly, seemingly olivious to America's terse nature, beads of sweat gluing onto her skin. Her eyes meet Koku, staying silent, unlike speaking up and quietly making the boy in front of her abashed like what she did in that room. "Don't worry- my brother is a very kind man. He wouldn't hurt you." His gray eyes twinkle with a cloud of mixed emotions, as if checking a crystal of his memory. "Of course he wouldn't."

America doesn't reply, eyes ahead, fixed in a straight line, ignoring the warmth that had just been emitted from Koku.

The rest of the walk was silent, Koku sensing her discomfort and deciding to let her figure this out herself, but never leaving by her side, his grey eyes over her.

They stop at a large door, a chill going through America's body, her heart once again accelerating, its beats sounding more like a haunting melody than just normal rhythmic heartbeats. She steels herself for what was to come, as Koku knocks on the door.

"Teikoku-kun?", he calls, "may we enter?"

"You _may_ ", says a voice from the inside, colder and deeper than Koku's voice. He turns the knob and opens the entrance to the den of doom, filling cold air wrap around America like a blanket failing to keep her warm during the coldest of all winters, leaving her to freeze to death at the claws of winter.

Teikoku was in his business suit, dark hair smoothed out, no curl left astray, his gray eyes dancing with familiar ambition, as it flits from Koku to America, raising a brow at her, eyes flickering with familiarity before he smiles pleasantly at his brother.

"So you have chosen", he says in a slow manner, elegantly poised from behind the desk, in his business chair like a king vying for power. His eyes flick dangerously to America, who is trying not to let him hinder her. " _Her_."

Koku clears his throat, an awkward smile on his face, "I'm sorry, was this the wrong choice?"

Teikoku glances back at his brother and, like a drizzle in the afternoon being fought at by the sun behind them, he smiles in an eerie, forced way. "Oh, but I'm absolutely proud to see that you've picked your bodyguard on your own, without my help." He looks back at America, with boiling rage and also... hunger, which made her sick and fists clench. "Though, I suspect she'd all just be a pretty face for you."

America's throat burns as her blue eyes rekindle with fire, trying not to already shoot the bastard straight in the head.

Koku blinks, processing what Teikoku had just said, "Wait; _my_ bodyguard?"

Teikoku nods a little too brightly to the point America thinks he's just doing this out of spite, "Of course! Last night has been a huge _disaster_ on my part; I put all my family in danger and look what had happened." He regards Koku's wound, who glances at it shortly before looking back at Teikoku. "And I don't want you to be harmed again."

"B-but you s-said-", Koku sputters, trying to formulate the right words to say to the man towering over the both of them.

Teikoku's hands grip at his chair tightly, a king once being notified of something he did not like and ultimately having fits of rage in his throne. "And I wish to protect you my dear Koku. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, I s-suppose... but-"

"Is that _clear_?", Teikoku says, tone laced with acid that may burn onto Koku's skin if he dabs more than just enough to watch it tear into him.

Koku stops arguing, falling silent, falling in line. The entire office was silent, needles trying to puncture this brand new and tense quiet. " _Hai_ , Teikoku-sama." He lowers his head, defeated.

Teikoku placates another suspectible smile on his face again, his eyes lingering to America once more, as a drop of sweat drops towards the dark wooden tiles, despite the cold surrounding.

"Let's go now, America-san", Koku tells America submissively, eagerly wanting to leave the office Teikoku had built his fear and lust upon. Koku was the first to exit, followed by his new bodyguard, who is a little too distant from him.

"Oh, _America_ ", she hears him coo disgustingly, "you're playing a dangerous game."

She glares at him, wanting to give him a snide remark, but she only responds with, "It is my honour serving your brother." America leaves the room, following Koku.

-

"You said your brother was 'kind'", she says, quoting the last word. "I think you mistook that word for 'being an asshole'."

Koku glares at her from his study desk (she was sitting on the edge of his bed), writing down on something. "Mind your language, America-san; Teikoku was just tired for the day, and this might have amplified his stress."

America snorts, "Yeah, sure, whatever you say, _Master_."

"You were kind to me about an hour ago, America", he replies, "where did that kindess go to?"

She stares at Koku a little, his eyes dancing with flames in them, and she sighs a little. "I didn't even have kindness in me."

Koku tilts his head, standing from his desk and then sitting right beside America, much to her confusion, furrowing her brows as his hand brushes hers. "Look, I don't really know you outside of our conversation earlier, but since now you're my bodyguard, I want to get to know you better."

America stares at Koku's fingers, then back at his eyes once again. Her face hardens. " _Fine_. You want to learn more about me?" She stands from the bed, her eyes glinting. "I want to learn more about you."

Koku stares at her, his expression unreadable except for the small fire kindling in his grey eyes, a shooting star against the calm and windy night. "What would you like to know?"

She comes back to his bed, cerulean eyes showing off her natural hue, the predator studying its prey. Said prey was looking at her, studying her, tearing her apart piece by piece as he warily watches the woman and what she is about to do. Instead, she smiles sweetly, like a siren perched on a rock, looking at the sailor in the ship, her lustful smile giving way as she starts to sing, the sweetest and most melodious voice, charming the sailor with too much infatuation until he dives down to the treacherous waters, waves trying to hold him back against the love of his life, his soulmate, just there, sitting on the rocks like it was his destiny to get to her- but once he gets dangerously close to her her eyes become acid as he is suddenly dragged deep down to the waters.

"About you, of course", she says warmly, her tone playful, hand on Koku's. "I know much about you, but only from your brother."

Koku raises a brow, a defiant look crossing his face. "You said that you only met my brother today."

"I never said that", she gives him a sweet smile, "I said he was intimidating."

"How do you know him in the first place?"

She rolls her eyes, in disbelief this boy is unaware of Teikoku's renowned fame, as if he had been living under a rock despite the fact he lives with the monster and is perhaps a monster himself.

But she also suspects Koku was trying to up his game, to play as naive as a child so he can divert America's attention.

She smirks a little.

"He's a world renowned business man, of course. One drop of his name and everyone's attention would turn to the one who mentions his title."

He gives a small laugh, looking at America with a small smile. "Y-yeah, maybe you're right."

She stares at him a little, as if his laugh was able to wake her up from her little fever dream down the road, his warmth shielding her from the pitter-patter of the rain outside. America studies his face- his eyes full of curiosity; the type of curiosity that will stop at nothing until he gets the answers he yearns for, his dark hair, its colour as dark as a raven's feathers, and if he doesn't keep it in such a messy state like he was busy all night, he would look so much like Teikoku it would become frightening.

"America?" She blinks as her attention is not at the way Koku poses himself as but towards his sweet smile. "You seem out of it."

She shakes her head a little. "Nothing. Just a little... bored."

Koku nods understandably, "I can see that; after all, it's raining outside."

"Do you have any hobbies outside of being oblivious?", America deadpans, and Koku furrows his brows, obviously offended at her statement.

"I'm not oblivious. Where did you get that conclusion?"

"The air around you defines your obliviousness."

Koku scoffs. "You say I'm oblivious but I say _you_ are."

And now she was the one who scoffs. "Me? Oblivious? I know more than you."

"Yes but, sometimes even the smartest ones can also be the most ignorant."

"You're smart. But you're simply a naive youth who ignores everything in his surroundings."

Koku narrows his eyes at her. "I regret choosing you as my bodyguard. Now you're just low key insulting me."

America smirks, "Oh? But I'm not insulting you. I'm just giving you a reality check... slowly but surely."

"What does that mean-"

Before America can answer his question the front door opens, revealing a short girl with dark hair and skin, her eyes comparable to the gold bars that are hidden in many a banks. She looks petrified and breathless, hand still on the doorknob. America spots a ring on her free hand, shining through the artificial lights like a precious artefact. The girl was sweating a little as her eyes land on Koku.

" _Ojisan_ ", she says, breathless, " _Otōsan_ wants me to tell you...", her eyes flip to America, " _Kanojo wa daredesuka_?"

Koku's eyes flick from his niece, to America. He opens his mouth, " _Kore ga watashi no bodīgādo, Amerikadesu_."

America tries to understand what they were saying, but it seems as if she was in another world; nothing makes sense to her, trapped in a one-dimensional bubble, people surrounding her speaking in a tongue that she could not understand, and can only watch from a mirror away.

(It reminded her of her times in the streets, when men around the alleys prey on her, talking in small, hushed and low voices, about her appearance, her figure, her _everything_.

Before she was brought back into the real world by her brothers.)

She knows they are talking about her; how and why she's in this position, being placed as a protector of the Nippon family, most especially one Koku Nippon. America tries to comprehend their conversation, but it was nothing else but breathy Japanese in her ears- she can hear it, of course, them speaking in normal voices and having a casual conversation like it was nothing, but for her, it was a barrier of vocabulary and tongue she could never even define what is what and which is which.

All she knows is her name.

Koku's eyes widen as his niece's voice starts to arguably grow higher and agitated, and he turns to America.

"You can end your shift today; me and Palau are going to go somewhere."

America nods, raising a brow of curiosity knowing that she'll never get an answer. "Alright."

Palau guides Koku out of the room, dim-wittedly leaving America still there. She looks around, like phantoms of the past, present, and future are watching her every move. She narrows her eyes as she stands from her the bed, eyes as narrow as a cat's.

Feet light in fear of being found, America looks beneath the bed first; she finds old clothes and rolled up papers, toys and some worn books. She picks up the rolled up papers first, and, seeing that their contents were only bunches of doodles made from pencil and imagination. She sighs as she reaches under the bed, paper after paper finding nothing but doodles (America wonders how much scrapped drawings Koku had thrown away in his bin only to wash away to the outer boundaries of his bed, to the world of unknown and of horror films). She takes out the worn books next, flipping a few pages only to find they've been horribly vandalised by neat and cursive handwriting that indirectly reviews scenes of each paragraph instead of writing his own paper.

(America cannot help but get bugged at how Koku would vandalise a book he owned like it was nothing- just a piece of treasure his riches has brought him, always finding another one to take in the ocean of gold.)

She sighs as she puts them back in place like it never happened, standing and opening his drawers. She opens the first, filled with pictures as she takes them out to inspect.

The first photo was of a young boy holding a woman's hand who was smiling at the camera, serene and peaceful, hand on her dress, long dark hair flowing behind her like she was an ethereal maiden, lost in the wind. She didn't resemble the young boy much, only his stormy grey eyes as he gives his mother the most joyous look.

America assumes this must be Koku and his mother, Kyoto, when he was young.

The next one was of him and Teikoku; they look younger than they are now, Koku's hair its signature mess while Teikoku's was as prim and proper. They were both looking at the camera, Teikoku's grey orbs staring into America's soul, digging into her flesh so that her heart can beat faster until he pierces it through. Koku was looking his best to act like the naive boy his brother made him out to be, winking at the camera with a peace sign, tongue sticking out.

The third was of Palau as a baby being caressed by a small Koku; Palau's father looking no more less than a teen. Teikoku was not smiling, looking at the infant with absolute hatred sparking in his eyes, a disapproving glare hidden beneath them.

America flips through more photos; one where Koku was holding Okinawa now, Teikoku older but still shooting his son the same glare he gave to Palau; of another one with Kyoto and Koku, but this time with his father Tokugawa Shogunate; then another one with Koku and Teikoku; then the entire family, Palau off to the side, Hokkaido joining her while holding Okinawa who was sucking at his thumb and looking anywhere but the camera, to Tokyo trying to smile, Teikoku smirking and Koku genuinely smiling like his family isn't shattered to pieces.

She wonders if Koku is in a different world where he doesn't suffer as much as Teikoku's own children, a little boy in a small world that Teikoku had made so he can manipulate him in tiny strings like a puppet as he laughs.

She opens the second drawer, only to find letters with the same cursive handwriting, completely written in Japanese exclusively. She fingers the letters and inspect them one by one. America knows she's worthless on understanding these so she folds them and puts them in her pockets for them to be inspected by the others.

America then opens the third drawer, full of only clothes, and she moves on to his wardrobe but it also only had clothes in them. She sighs as she closes the wardrobe, knowing it was a lost cause, that Koku was oblivious beyond belief. She makes a note to search some of the others' rooms, before going to the apex predator's den.

-

A man enters through the brothels, his polished dark shoes creating a squeaking sound on the halls of the hygienic and clean building, its walls chaste and its floors undefiled. His eyes hungrily lingers on the woman in front of him, lingerie and all, following her boss as he guides them both to the room where it happens. He licks his lips as his eyes stay on the woman, already wanting to undress her remaining blockade to her most private parts right then and there and leave her screaming.

It was not his first time in such a sinful establishment, of course; he had always been a full-time client of Teikoku, calling him through private calls to let the man know he is ready for another round with one of his women, wanting to hear their sweet screams and whines from underneath him as he deepens himself into their bodies more, more, _more_. He always had a large smile on his face as he touches even the deepest parts of them, letting them writhe beneath him, begging him to either stop or keep going, because that is what they are- whores who needs a man's touch to keep them fed and healthy. He can already feel the arousal in him growing, blood rushing through his veins, desire steaming, wishing to be let out like a kettle whistling for its owner to notify them that the water inside them has boiled.

He usually enters The Comfort Zone at night, though. There is no use for a good fuck in the mornings because poor little souls who hadn't tasted the life of the rich will question where he had gone, if he would come back to where he left at all. Of course, most clients will be rampant around night, but this is a risk he must take to save his reputation from splotches of black ink that will stain his only good sheet of paper.

This place was for the wicked, where the lustful men come and go, leaving their desires inside of them and waiting, slowly but surely, to come around the women they ought to buy just for an hour or more, and tearing them apart, flesh in their teeth, hands playing and yanking on their hair, fingers digging into the whore's skin as her eyes are pleading with mercy and leniency as their clients destroy them and their dignity, leaving nothing but a broken mirror and shattered pieces of it.

Teikoku unlocks the door, and the man grins as he hears the squeak of the opening door. He puts a hand around the whore's waist, and she shivers, as his hands linger lower and lower. Teikoku looks at them both with a grin on his face,

"Well, I bid you both a good luck and a good night." He stalks off from the couple, but he eyes the lady under the man's arm for a suspicious amount of time before turning his head the other way.

The man turns to the pretty face next to him but she was already moving; she yanks down his collar to kiss him, her breath sweet and alluring, as she leads him into the room, its walls smelling like lavender, despite the fact it was dark as the hole in his heart once the whore closes the room. He feels her body on him, kissing him with such passion it was burning him alive ever so slightly, a fire raging deep in his veins as he kisses back, feeling one of her hands being freed underneath his grasp as he pins her down the bed-

He is then flipped on his back as he feels the soft bed underneath him, the warm and hot feeling he had a while ago replaced with cold as he feels the head of a pistol on his head.

"So", the woman finally says, only it wasn't a feminine voice; it was a _man's_. "You either open your mouth to answer my questions or I'll shoot you in the head."

-

"How was first day of the job, my dudes?", Aussie asks as he nibbles on a cookie crumble he found in the fridge.

America looks at him as she unpins her hair from the tight bun she had wrongfully chosen to tie around her hair, "Painful."

Canada was looking smug through the monitor, "Good. For the day."

America scowls at him, "You're lucky your pretty boy body made everyone think you're a chick."

"A _hot_ chick", he corrects smugly, "loads of dudes groped me this night."

"And that's something to be proud about?", his sister scolds at him as she unties her bun, wavy hair falling beneath her shoulders like rain, smooth and soft.

Canada shoots her an apologetic look, "Sorry, won't happen again." His face morphs into a disgusted look. "I can't believe people would try and take pleasure of someone's suffering."

"That's technically what Teikoku does", Kiwi pipes up, "like, all the time." He faces America, "and how was your first day of the job?"

She rolls her eyes, "Three hours in and I want to punch Koku's face and shoot Teikoku right at his head."

"Found anything?", Aussie asks.

"No, except for the fact Koku is an extreme idiot and oblivious to the shit his brother does."

"Chill", Canada says in a smooth voice, "sounds like you want to bash their heads open."

"I do, so badly."

"You'll only tolerate them for a few weeks or months- you just have to be hella careful if you wanna get out of there fast." Kiwi takes a seat right beside Aussie, who was now boredly playing with the staplers.

"I don't think I can last longer than a week there- Aussie, stop playing with those." She snatches the bullets and machinery from Aussie's hands like he was a little child holding something he should not be holding. He pouts at her petulantly.

Canada's expression turns serious, "America, did you find any evidence in Koku's room or any room, for the matter?"

She blinks, "Actually, no. Like what I said, it's like Koku is extremely sheltered and it seems that Teikoku's been keeping him in the dark."

Canada nods, "Or he could be acting to make you think that to lead you on."

America affirms, "That too."

"How could someone be such a good actor?", Aussie asks in an exaggerated manner.

"It's their nature", America deadpans, her tone crisp. "They'll lure you in because they look like they're in danger but in a second _you're_ the one in danger and they murder you."

"Sounds like you've had experience with these before", Australia says.

America's eyes darken, "Of course I have. Speaking of which, I forgot I have these." She takes out the handfuls of letters she stole from Koku's room, all worn and yellowed as it had aged from centuries and were kept in a small dark space for a long time. New Zealand takes a few of the letters and examines them, eyes narrowing.

"I have no idea what these say", he states.

"Obviously!", his sister replies, "can anyone here understand Japanese?"

"Philip can", Vietnam enters from the open door with a cup of coffee in her hands, "he said he'd learned it from Spain."

"Alright, can you bring him here? We need him to read and translate these." Vietnam nods as she takes her leave once again, the doors closing behind her and leaving the four siblings in their familial peace.

America misses these moments, sometimes; when she wasn't in her own apartment doing her own lonely business, looking out in the cold night with a cigarette on her fingers, wind billowing in her light wavy hair, the night calling to her like she was the one who had gotten away. She misses the way her brothers would make fun of her, poke fun of her business as they laugh the day off with a cup of coffee and a few snacks on their hands, joy bright and fond in their faces, waiting for another day with each other.

-

"Sir, they hacked in to your files."

"I _know_ that- someone ought to have done it. And I know who."

"Are you going to do something with America now in your home?"

Teikoku thinks for a moment, "No, not yet. Let her think she's one step ahead until I make my own move. Is that clear?"

A pause. Then, "Yes sir."

He chuckles, putting a cigarette on his mouth. "Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> joesong haeyo- I'm sorry
> 
> Cheonman-eyo- you're welcome
> 
> Kanojo wa daredesuka- who is she
> 
> Kore ga watashi no bodīgādo, Amerikadesu - this is my bodyguard, America


	5. Let The Games Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also apparently it’s this fic’s one month anniversary! ^^ here’s to more chapters in the future
> 
> Name Guide:
> 
> Koku Nippon- Japan
> 
> Teikoku Nippon- Japan Empire
> 
> Choson Inmin/Chollima- North Korea
> 
> Tengri- ;)

On the second day of her faux job, Koku approaches her first, a few books on his hand while he looks positively breathless. They were at the gardens (Koku had introduced her to this Eden of sorts), America staring at the butterflies surrounding each flower that linger in the grasslands, swaying to the beat of the winds around them. She wonders if the winged insects were aware of the fact that Teikoku had lured them all into a garden of lies, the petals of the flowers baiting them into a paradise they never had. She looks at the beautiful patterns of their wings, unique and different in all ways, opening and closing their silk smooth wings before opening them to show a kaleidoscope.

She sighs as one perches on her hair, smiling a little at how peaceful her surroundings are, no wave of disturbance for the day as the insect on her hair continue on laying on her, until a rush of air made the butterfly fly away. She scowls as she finds Koku approaching her.

"America, I need you to do something for me", Koku asks, puffing a little, while America looks at him with a raised brow.

"Fine, what do you want?"

"Since you're technically my bodyguard... want to go to my spot in the gardens?"

America blinks, before regaining her composure, "Sure. Where?"

Koku beckons her close, "Follow me, of course."

He turns his back to America, immediately disappearing into the trees surrounding the entire house, and she wonders how many other pearls of treasures did Teikoku hide. She strays from the concrete path the workers had worked hard to the bone to get done, feeling the stray leaves of grass brush her feet, the world moving slower and past her as Koku takes her towards more and more trees, leaves covering them both.

(How large was Teikoku's home, to accommodate a humongous garden in its centre and other utilities? _Where_ did he get the money?)

America can feel herself already lost, thick leaves and low-lying branches appearing and surprising her every way, as if they were practising sorcery and tormenting her line of sight once one single branch escapes her line of sight. She looks back, only to see the trees and grass right behind her, no way back but forward with Koku. Who, speaking of which, was now ahead of her by a mile. With a shout to notify him she's far behind, she picks up her pace, ignoring the overgrown roots that look more like monstrous claws trying to trip her and slow her down but she prevails, trying to link it to those wires she uses for training. The thick leaves of the trees hide the radiance of the sun, only showing her small specks of them, like it was trying to give her small hope that Koku wasn't going to kill her.

The trees and vines became much more thicker, like they were the heart of the forest, sticking together as old friends, leaves with the sun boring through them like eyes following her into an abyss of secrecy, roots still grappling at her feet, waiting for the moment to strike. America pants a little, now out of breath from how long she's ran to the point she was relieved Koku stops at a wooden blockade, rotten wood showing, standing and guarding what lies between two worlds for thousands of years.

Koku - with no hesitance - pushes the blockade open, a dying squeak sounding, and light fills the path. America squints, as Koku beckons her to come with him. She soon after him enters the place he usually goes to to enjoy his private time, away from Teikoku, away from his family, in his own little world doing god-knows-what.

America lifts her eyes- and gasps.

She can see why Koku would go to this place.

It was like the sand-filled hourglass had barricaded the hole where grains of sand fall through so that time will stop still, oblivion facing its own abyss of darkness and it falls through it, eternal primordial of chaos snatching them up with its talons. Light fills the entire patch of this garden, despite the fact the aged trees' thickest leaves were obscuring the entire ground from view, patches of overgrown grass creeping onto the tree trunks in a slow and sneaking manner. Koku hums another lullaby under his breath as he moves forward, rustling the blades of grass with his feet but America stays frozen in her spot, mesmerized at the undisturbed youthful beauty made by Mother Nature herself with her nurturing hands.

Koku looks back at a gaping America, and he chuckles a little, "What are you waiting for? Winter?"

She closes her mouth and moves forward, sitting right across Koku, cross-legged. Her eyes move from the blades of grass to Koku, thinking of how much he blends in with the surroundings. With the sun's light hitting Koku in the right way, he looks like he was the keeper of the secret part of the gardens, letting her enter in the most sacred and secret place, showing her the sensitive balance of the garden.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?", Japan sighs dreamily, catching her eyes, and his eyes roam around her face and, under his breath, mutters, "Just as pretty as you."

America looks at him with furrowed brows. "What?"

Koku averts his gaze, turning as red as the flowers America had encountered earlier. "Nothing."

America raises an eyebrow. "Alright then." She looks around the whole section of the gardens before going back to Koku like he was a magnet to the vision. "The question is: why'd you bring me here?"

Koku sighs a little, shaking his head a little. "When I was a kid, my brother... _secluded_ me from others. I was home schooled by my father, and my brother encouraged me to learn more than socialising. I guess it took a toll on me. Then I discovered this place in the gardens, and it became my world. The place where I always go to to blow off some steam and frustration, isolating myself from the outer world because I know I can never be like the other kids." He sees America's frown, "Oh I'm sorry, I'm getting out of topic; I wanted to bring you here because... you may be my first friend, even if we didn't really come off at the right start."

When he lifts his eyes from the ground, his cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment he just had to make a speech in front of America, she was staring at him speechless, her cerulean eyes piercing straight to his grey ones. He once again averts his gaze, never holding down a stare, the shade of pink becoming even brighter.

"Thanks", was all she could muster, staring back at the blades of grass surrounding her.

An awkward silence echo throughout the gardens, the both of them not looking at each other, trying to formulate a topic that can rid them of this torturous awkwardness.

"You were home schooled?" America finds the words to break and interrupt the echoes.

Koku perks up, "Well, yes; my brother believed that I was too ' _special_ ' to be with other children. He trained me and hired the best tutors around, and I rarely even go outside or interact with my other family members except for him. I mean of course, he is one of my teachers-"

"What did he teach you? How to be a prim and plain man hiding behind the windows like some sheltered _princess_?"

He scowls at her, the pink tinge in his cheeks now gone. "I am _not_ a princess, America. I'm just like the rest of all of you. Teikoku didn't teach me how to be a plain and prim obedient lapdog, he taught me self-defence."

America laughs, her eyes once again pinned on his body, "You were taught self-defense? Hm. I don't see it."

Koku glares at her, his grey eyes turning a crimson red as Teikoku's before becoming a stormy grey once again. "I can show to you I'm taught self-defence!"

She throws her gun right at his face, emitting a shriek from him. Once he takes the gun to his shaking palms, he finds America smirking at him.

"Alright then", she says, tone amused. "Hit the intended target with that piece of crap, and you'll show me how good you are with that."

Koku stands up, blazing like a child not being given their sweets after pleading for it. "Fine, I'll prove it."

America shrugs and gets up, trying to find a good target Koku can hilariously fail at. She raises a brow and smiles at a tree bark, its dark oak wood swirling like a target plan, looking carved and etched into its wood. Right at its centre was a small circle, the evidence of it being carved obvious. She looks at Koku, who seems to be getting her clue, as he was now looking at his target intently, eyes narrowed, full of focus, like it would be the end of the world and god forbid he let his eyes avert from the target. She sees his chest rise and fall, keen on making his first shot count as he pulls the trigger and the gun lets out a loud noise that would've shaken the natural ecosystem of the gardens.

America opens her eyes once again, turning back to the target, determined to prove Koku wrong... only to find that the bullet made its mark, a bulls’ eye with the bullet still smoking in impact.

"America, have you _seen_ the rest of this place?", she turns to find Koku parting a few leaves so she could see another target, with a bullet mark on the bulls' eye. She then notices the entire place; most oak trees were covered in crude carvings of a target circle, each of them covered with bullets hitting bulls’ eye.

(Why the hell would Koku even ruin such a beautiful ecosystem with targets around every single oak tree?)

She tries keeping her composure, despite the fact her pride is breaking, "I was too busy admiring the gardens that I didn't know you were destroying it."

Koku glares at her once again, intensity of a dark stormy cloud about to unleash a torrent of rain and thunder into unsuspecting fields. He stalks towards her, gun on his hand, and America fidgets in her place, trying to formulate a plan to fend him off-

"Maybe you need to learn that not all of us are prim and proper princes in need of protecting", he says, voice cold, right in front of America, emphasising his height as she cranes up to look at him with a face of defiance.

Koku did not say a word as he exits the garden, his bodyguard following him.

-

"And where are you going now?", America snaps as she rapidly follows Koku to one of Teikoku's priced cars. He did not reply, eyes ahead, obviously still wounded from America's jibes in the garden.

"To the mall", he replies, tone clipped, "to tell my brother I'm an independent man who doesn't need him to accompany me all the time." His eyes glint back to America again, "And _you_ , of course."

America crosses her arms, lips pressed into a thin line as she pushes out a stray strand of her blonde hair from her eyes, "Since I am - and still is - your bodyguard, it's my duty to protect and keep you from harm." _Even if I want to see you get hit by a bus_.

"You can leave me be, thank you", Koku snaps as he opens the car door and starts the engine, but she ignores him and opens the door to the passenger seat, sitting on the seat with crossed arms, much to Koku's indignation from the way his hands clench around the steering wheel, eyes looking straight ahead as he steps on the brakes.

The drive to the mall was silent, America looking out the windows to see the entire world move backwards, only for more shapes to take in like a dash and speed of colours have manifested right in front of her, and out of the corner of her eye, Koku was staring at America before going back to being focused on the road.

The mall was - of course - packed with crowds everyday as they jostle from one store to another, lounge on the few sites available and talk to each other, whether it be on phones or with each other. Koku pays America one single look before he leaves her, much to the woman's chagrin as she chases him down. As America catches up with Koku, she is struck by a dozen memories of she and her brothers coming to this place to have fun.

Needless to say, she feels a pang of longing for them, to be with her brothers once again after this whole ordeal is done and it is now just a memory her mind decided not to scathe to the darkness of her mind. It was not fair, she thinks, at how they're supposedly just relaxing their asses off from their seats while Canada is busily seducing men with a simple kiss on the cheek making a rose of blood before tearing their walls apart as he cocks a gun at their head, yet she is slowly torturing herself by looking after Koku who gets hurt from a single thorn injuring his fingers as he whines for it to stop bleeding. America sighs a little, slowing her pace down because her young body could not move from the impending doom of brittle bones, no, but because she now feels a spam of homesickness flooding through her. She can feel her body being plunged into the waters, trying to find a pearl bright enough to light up the deepest and darkest recesses of the waters, but nothing is there, her air running out.

"Hey." A soft voice makes her emerge from the water, as she jumps a little before calming down to find Koku staring at her with a concerned look. "Are you alright?"

America searches his eyes, two worlds colliding to create one world out of the two broken ones. Then she looks away and towards a bookstore, a warm feeling in her chest. "I'm fine, thank you."

Koku tilts his head, not believing her statement before shaking it off. "Alright, I'm sorry to have hurt you."

America turns right back at him, craning her neck (he was ridiculously tall, and she only reaching up to his neck), "You didn't hurt me."

"You say that but you've been behaving like this since we entered." His eyes soften, "I'm sorry."

She blinks, still confused at what he was talking about. "There's... nothing to be sorry about."

Koku siddles up to America, pressed against her, hands brushing. For some reason, America's heart beat in perfect harmony, but as the flush in her face grows the beatings of her heart became more and more frantic, like they were running to something they've always wanted but never got, from measly storybook princes to the real thing. She takes a deep breath, trying to still her beating heart, her eyes blinking back at Koku's.

Sensing the awkward situation around them, Koku's eyes pivot to the bookstore right behind America, lighting up with such fervour and delight that he runs to the bookstore holding America's hand, as she catches up with Koku, heels clacking against the marble floors, her eyes following Koku's eager eyes towards the bookstore. They stop towards one of the bookshelves, full of new books waiting to be read. Koku's eyes light up- sparkling like diamonds once miners found where they were hiding.

"So, you like books", America muses, as she watches Koku choose one open book to peruse. "It's a surprise."

Koku ignores her, eyes full of printed letters floating, a look of intrigue on his face, hands gently holding the book.

"I love reading them", Koku replies in the guise of a dream, "they're my only solace from studying. Except if my phone is there, of course, but it made me set off my carreer as a writer- although I only post online." He shrugs, "At the very least some people actually read it."

"God forbid he posts on Wattpad", America murmurs under her breath, remembering the times she caught Canada reading and writing some in that god-forsaken site. "I have a brother who writes as well; maybe you should meet someday."

Koku sighs sadly, "I'd love to meet and make new friends, but I already risked everything getting you and I'm exhausted to make you my friend. Our chance for friendship makes me exhausted a little."

"Then why keep trying?"

He searches her eyes, "Because in all my life, I've wanted a friend."

Her eyes widen, mouth open as she looks back at Koku. "And do you consider me as a friend?"

He smiles. "Yes."

-

Meanwhile, a teenage boy was busily pretending to read a dozen of colorful magazines, eyeing the two with a dark eye full of hatred and intent, his other hand toying with the gun on his waist, wanting to already shoot the bastard's brother to make him cry and weep, knowing there is no saving a deceased man from the likes of death.

He hears static in his earphone, and a sharp, raspy voice, "Chollima? Where the _hell_ are you?"

He doesn't respond, still eyeing the couple with disgust. Inmin had waited for all his life to finally murder someone the man cares for, so he knows now how Inmin has felt for years and centuries to come. Inmin had followed them once they entered the square, calculating the right time to move.

"Chollima, for goodness sake! Are you following Teikoku around again?"

"No, Tengri, I'm following his brother so I can murder him and get my revenge."

"Damn it, we were supposed to only buy condoms for Soviet!", Tengri replies with a huff, "He's going to murder us if we're late!"

"Let Soviet be pissed then! It isn't my fault China can't ride him to the achy breaky bank!"

"You fucking dumbass! Soviet can hear us through these!"

"Let him hear me when I say I saw China make out with Russia while he was off fucking that German chick!"

"For god's sake", Tengri growls as Inmin hears him step on his cigarette, meaning he's already fuming, "Get out of there while you still can because if I catch you there... you won't like it."

The connection drops off, once again leaving Inmim to spy on Koku and his bodyguard who looks - oddly - familiar. He narrows his good eye and furrows his brows, the searing pain from behind his eye patch, burning the skin inside of him with such intensity like he was now burning in hell to atone for the sins of his life and past lives. He winces a little as his own memory rolls back to the place where it all ended. He remembers the bomb, the grand shrapnels that had impaled his eye like pins puncturing skin.

Inmin looks back at the guard.

Yes, she was there, indeed.

He then hears static pick up on his ear once again, meaning Tengri was regaining connection.

"Chollima, for goodness sakes, where are you?"

His reply is, "Where you hear the gunshot from."

With that he takes out his pistol, much to everyone's concern as they stand back from him and panic because humans only know how to cause pandemonium and they are doing a great job at scaring their target. Koku and his bodyguard were standing frozen still, but his bodyguard had made her move as she shields the boy she is supposedly to protect from harm while the boy tries hard to persuade her that it might be a false alarm.

Inmin aims the pistol onto Koku's head, and Koku finally spots him, eyes wide, as his murderer pulls the trigger-

An arm causes his shot to move sideways, grazing Koku's bodyguard's ear, much to his shock and anger, eye flaring as he looks at the man who disrupted the possible.

Tengri's visor glares right back at him, a staring contest to try and unveil the other. He's never usually angry, unless someone had the audacity to interrupt him during a smoke break, which Inmin had done.

"Soviet heard your bullshit", Tengri says as he yanks Inmin's arm hard enough for it to dislocate something, and he winces as he feels himself being torn apart from the base. "He wants to see you. _Now_."

With Inmin's now dislocated arm numb in Tengri's hands, they run outside as Inmin winces and flinches and tries breathing hard for the pain to go away, knowing it is not enough as the pain in his mind and heart. He passes by a dozen signs, all with floating words and distorted letters, mocking him for the fact that he will never read. His feet were light as they run from the incompetent guards, who didn't even detect the gun on his waist, but he still runs, ignoring the pinch of pain from that dislocated joint.

They arrive on the parking lot, both of them huffing and Inmin stretching his arm out as Tengri was starting the motorcycle, helmet still on, and once he hops on it, Inmin takes the lone helmet and hops on Tengri, swinging one arm on his waist.

When the guards being lead by Koku's bodyguard arrive seconds later, all they find is a half-burnt cigarette on the ground.

-

Koku massages his grazed elbow before going back to aiding America, who insists she's fine and it was a simple graze, but he dislikes the sight of blood and wishes to help her ease the pain. Gently, he dabs at the wounded skin with a cotton ball as America babbles off about how she protected him so of course this is the cost of her protection.

"Leave me be, Koku", she says as Koku becomes a little too close for comfort, "I can take care of myself."

"That is evident, yes", Koku replies, "but I'm simply thanking you for saving my life by taking care of you. Isn't that what friends are for?"

She flushes red again, a lighter shade than the crimson blood still dripping from her cheek. "Yeah, but I'm your bodyguard."

"So what if you're my bodyguard? You still need to care for your injuries."

She huffs, trying to hide her wince as Koku once again dabs at her ear and cheek, "I'm experienced. You're not."

"And that's the boundary you want to settle with? You're my friend."

"There with the friend talk again! I can take care of myself!" She breaks away from Koku's grasp, glaring up at him with defiance, but he only sighs.

"It's my fault you got into this in the first place." He looks sheepish as he handles the blood-covered cloth. "I'm sorry."

America sighs, the hard look in her eyes softening. "It's fine. But next time you follow my lead, all right?"

Koku hesitates for a moment, fidgeting in his seat, before, "Yes."

America leans back to his touch, sighing a little as warmth comes back to her like the waves of the sea softly crashing onto the shore, blue waves against the golden sand. She closes her eyes, imagining the arms around her right now as leaves of a tree's branch, warm against the summer heat. She visualizes the body against her as the oak tree in her old home, before leaving everything she knows behind, everything she had come accustomed to like she was the weed in need of trimming because she is the parasite in the garden. There was a linger of touch on her cheek, and she generalises it as winds grazing her face.

"Koku", she sighs, her eyes looking back at the crimson red, "you're a good person." _Your brother, on the other hand..._

Koku's look of serenity fades, as it is replaced by horror and guilt, like he had done wrong with the thirteen horses in his stables. He shakes his head, the arms on America's body shaking, "N-no. No. I'm not a good person."

She perks up, knowing she had just unlocked the vault in all of Koku's secrets, looking for the key deep in his heart with her fingers going through the loose rib cages and squeezing the heart that resides in it. "Why would you think you aren't? Did something happen in your past?"

Koku's face makes a strangled motion, like he was being suffocated of air as the arms around her becoming numb and cold and she feels a certain chill and dread, the serenity and joy evaporating to thin air. He slowly looks back at her with raised eyes of hesitance, and with her own colourful orbs she urges him to tell her, pushing and pulling his heartstrings.

The corners of America's lips move upward as Koku clears his throat and opens his mouth, "I saw-"

"Koku!", Tokyo rudely opens the door with such force just strong enough to shake the entire earth, "Teikoku wants to see you in the gardens."

Koku immediately forgets what he was going to tell America, and his bodyguard sends a glare at Tokyo's direction, as he stands up and walks out of the room, giving America one last furtive glance before closing the door. She bites her lip, frustrated; she had her chance then and there, but Tokyo had to ruin it because Teikoku wants to talk to his brother in the gardens.

An idea clicks into place, a full-scale smile forming on her lips. The light bulb inside of her shines brightly as it puts her mind gears to work, streaking out of the door and discreetly searching for Teikoku's office. She confidently struts (as if she owned the place, as if she had won) through the monochrome walls that look too lonely and close for comfort, looking like they wish to mourn their shortcomings but in the end they are non-existent and cannot speak. A camera was watching her in every corner, monitoring her movements like they were Teikoku's own eyes.

America mentally notes that when she comes to the office she has to conceal all evidence she was even there. The cameras follow her like dark eyes monitoring her every move. She stops at the dark mahogany door, feeling the remnants of the cold air settling near her, to a time back in the twentieth century where a doctor tries desperately to fix the air conditioner that makes him young and healthy. With a deep breath, as if she will see the remnants of an old doctor staring back at her with dead eyes, she opens the door, cold air sagging and draining her energy.

It was a dark room... too dark, she supposes, glancing at the shut windows covered with dark curtains, and as she peers closer, she sees a spot of multi-color wings sticking on the walls; a butterfly impaled by pins on all sides, in its thorax and head, dead and decaying as its wings go dark with no more energy left to glow its beautiful pigment and prism of colours. Teikoku seems to have a hobby pinning every type of thing in the walls, as she stares at the dead butterfly before remembering what her mission was.

America looks around, noting that Teikoku does not have a camera in his office, nor did he even have monitors where he can watch everyone's moves. Perhaps it is hidden beneath his desk, since he looks quite fond of it, so she decides to look behind his desk for clues. She curses the darkness of the room, getting used to the cold and chilly air around her, except for the fact that it still sends goosebumps against her skin- evidence of old encounters with Teikoku, slipping in and out memory after memory. America opens the first drawer nearest to her, hearing the shuffling of papers as she squints in the darkness, its hands pounding on her to stop resisting it clouding her vision. She takes out her phone in her pockets, the light from the device creating absolute hope in the desolate darkness. She raises a brow once she sees the first sheet of paper through the hard light.

_日本帝国,_

_I've received your letter about your offer to marry off your brother, Koku Nippon, to my daughter, Ost. I have qualms with the way your letter is written; bitter and informal, too ambitious and suspicious, due to the fact your letter had appeared out of nowhere. I am suspecting you just want to marry your brother off to one of the (I am not bragging- I'm simply telling the truth) most powerful families in The City just so you can leech off of our riches. 帝国, you have enough money to sustain yourself a happy funeral, butterflies and all._

_I'm sorry to say but I will not be accepting your proposal for Koku to marry Ost; they are both too young and you know that._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Weimar_

America furrows her brow at the letter, something off about the way this was written. Maybe it was because she hears the name Weimar again, the man who disappeared from the face of the earth and replaced by someone much, much worse. She remembers how Australia and New Zealand had told everyone that all of Weimar's files were erased from every corner of The City and the name Third Reich assumed in its place, his name everywhere.

She purses her lips.

Maybe she needs to send someone to spy on Reich and his family, after all.

America takes a picture of the letter, and takes another letter from the pile. This letter was unopened, treasure chest in an impossible cave, covered with a thousand stalactites and stalagmites poised to kill. She curses under her breath, deciding to take the risk to open this damned thing in the most careful of ways, a torch trying not to burn the entire woods down because it is only warming the said logs. She tears open the envelope carefully and cautiously, wincing as the ripped paper lets out a noise of pain, stopping at every given second to see if Teikoku is coming. As the envelope opens, she realises that the reason why Teikoku hasn't opened it yet was because he wrote the letter and planned to send it;

_My friend,_

_I am simply hurt at the fact that you decided to glimpse at my files and records- from the day I lived to the day I will and shall die. Death is imminent, but who's to say it wouldn't come to you first? My family's files are quite secretive, **友だち** (or should I say enemy, now that I know you're on justice's side), and now you come into our home bearing tea pots and once I am distracted you go from room to room to give out my files to your precious children whom you abandoned for the salvation of being an outlaw. I admire your courage, Britain, but I'm coming for you now._

She blinks a little, squinting at the name Teikoku had written on his letter.

_Britain._

Her father.

_He was in league with Teikoku the whole time?,_ she thinks to herself, agog, her mind coming back to her father who left his own children to be food for the wolves, serene smile and light blonde hair flowing in the winds as he sips his cup of afternoon tea, whistling an old tune. Old man must've known about the whole plan, then.

Then she rereads the letter again, catching something she didn't.

_"Give out my files to your precious children."_

This implies that Britain is working for good, for them, for the entire government.

She furrows her brow.

But why?

She takes another photo and puts the letter back into the envelope, sealing it to make it look like there was no evidence of someone fussing up Teikoku's office.

She takes out another letter; another from Weimar, about his daughter and the hand of marriage. But this time, his handwriting has become garbled and messy, as if he had no time to write, no time to hold a pen until he collapses dead, scribbles of cursive becoming incomprehensible as its writer has become more mad.

日本帝国,

_Your wish will not and never be granted, STOP asking me a thousand times for my daughter's marriage! Our family inheritance will never ever be yours, your entire existence is ENOUGH to make the most sane person mad. Do you have any remorse for what you are doing to the women who had come by your life, only to become pawns and toys to you and your own men. I'm afraid that will happen to my daughter too, so I have yet to trust you. If only I can be a good father and a good thinker will I now have my own answer to your request. But I'm NOT and NEVER will be because these VOICES in my head are swirling and swirling and swirling-_

There were ink splotches on the last parts of the letter, as if Weimar had a seizure in the middle of writing such an important document that he fails to finish it and instead screams.

She flips to another letter, this time from Soviet Union himself;

_привет, японская империя,_

_You think you are the sharpest tool in the box, don't you? Listen here and listen well you Ублюдок; you are as stubborn and ambitious as that Китайская Республика，a coward for leaving The City and denying my love of bloodshed. Many mobs are vying for power, wishing to grasp it on their own hands, while you are a pig for sitting on a throne that isn't even yours. The thing is, Прошлое - это настоящее, а настоящее - это прошлое. If you had the audacity to try and take моя игрушка again, well... it wouldn't be pretty, wouldn't it?_

_так долго, Советский Союз_

America had to wonder- why would Soviet send Teikoku a letter? Was there history between those two? She looks at the words in Russian again, wishing if she could actually speak the language or understand it she'd solve the riddle. She puts the letters back inside the drawers, her hands and mind at once wishing to cover up dirt that Teikoku had buried deep in the field of carcasses and corpses of the people who have tried - and failed - to overthrow him. Then she hears two voices, overlapping and at the same time distinct in her ears. Their steps echo across the floors, taunting her as she tries to calculate how much time she can leave (without being noticed or looking quite obvious at what she was doing there), but as the doorknob turns the only answer is her staying in the office. She ducks underneath Teikoku's desk as the door fully opens, an air colder than the winter billowing inside.

America slightly shivers, covering her mouth to avoid the two brothers hearing her, from underneath the desk. A prey hiding from a predator in its natural habitat, thoroughly shaken but firm. But there was a warmer air inside now, a crisp but dying sun rising over a frozen tundra, giving little to no warmth but still presiding over the snow-covered hills and lakes, giving hope that not everything is cold-hearted.

"When will Manchukuo's funeral be held?", Koku's voice says, breaking the ice surrounding the room and creeping on the walls like it was nothing- because melting is always its cycle once warmer temperatures start to climb once again.

Teikoku sighs, as if this question has been asked a thousand times. "A week from now, no less."

"Will Manchukuo's children be there?"

"Of course. They deserve to see their father one last time." There was a second layer in his voice, something hidden and much more diabolical and meaningful than what he means by his answer.

"All right." A pause, before Koku continues again. "Will he be at the funeral?"

"Who?"

"Him; my friend."

Teikoku chuckles, once again making the air frozen still. "Of course he'd be there. I sent him a little gift, I gave him one of my children- you bet he'd be there."

America blinks, trying to rationalise what Teikoku and Koku's conversation was, but Koku badgers on.

"You know, Father would be proud of you." There was a hint of missing from his voice, softer and gentler but also ultimately complimenting his brother with a tinge of fear.

Teikoku scoffs, "He should be; I created an empire out of his little kingdom."

"Yes, he should be..." Another hesitation from Koku, these words spoken softer and tentatively.

"Well then, this was a lovely conversation, but I feel like you're both shaken and hungry from the encounter at the mall. Shall we eat dinner?"

"Of course. Will my-"

"Yes, your little _minx_ will be accompanying you as well to the table." He spits the word 'minx' venomously, a hateful tone that America uses to curse his name.

Koku gasps, "Teikoku, show some respect! She protected me today! Don't call her that!"

"And I call her whatever I want; understood?" His voice cuts deep into Koku's like a knife pointed at his heart, Koku hesitating and thinking of his words- America's heart was beating loudly, hammering on her chest and she hopes only she could hear it and not them. Sweat was forming on her forehead and on her skin, and she hopes that if they drop it wouldn't be noticeable to anyone.

"Yes, onii-chan." Comes the words of surrender from Koku, and just like that the knives and daggers are hidden.

"Good", he says a little too brightly, opening the door once again. "Come then, our dinner awaits."

"Alright." Koku exits first, and America discreetly and silently exhales, but she realises Teikoku was still in the office, having never left.

"Oh, America", he says in a playful and sweet tone it was disgusting her. "You're playing a dangerous game." He closes the door, leaving her in the darkness alone.

She gets up from beneath the desk, legs hurting due to the fact she'd been crouching there for god knows how long, covered with sweat as she looks back at the door with her eyes.

How did he know she was there?

Did he walk into his office with Koku just to mock her?

Her eyes sharpen, fists clenching, jaw hardening.

If Teikoku wants her to play a dangerous game, she will.

Once Koku opens the door to his bedroom, his bodyguard was gone, only leaving a message that she had left once he dismissed her.

-

"How's your day?", Aussie asks, already starting his dessert by now.

"Terrible", America replies, caressing the bandage on her cheek, "had a talk with Koku. This happened."

"He _shot_ you?", New Zealand gasps from the refrigerator.

" _No_ ", America replies, "don't be incredulous. I protected him from an attack that happened."

"Yeah, heard the news", Canada pipes up in Aussie's phone screen. "Damn America, you're taking this job seriously."

"Shut up", America mumbles, before her voice becomes confident again, "Found some compelling evidence at what Teikoku is planning."

Canada raises a brow, "Oh?"

She turns her phone on and slides it towards Aussie and New Zealand, skimming the pictures. Once they got to another letter, however, their eyes widen as they both exchange petrified looks at each other.

"What's wrong?", Canada asks.

"Our father...", Aussie meets America's expectant eyes, quivering. "Gave us Teikoku's and his family's files."

Canada's eyes widen, and something clicks in America's mind.

"At first, we conversed in our phones for a few weeks, but sometimes his connections would run rampant and he'd disconnect entirely; sometimes his voice is too soft and low we couldn't understand; but imagine our surprise when he sends all data from Teikoku's files to us, then sends out a messenger to give us hard copies of the Nippon family's records. Imagine our surprise when we saw his face after a decade."

America stays silent, feeling envy rise from the depths of her heart- how come Britain hadn't shown himself to her? Was she not enough? Did he not trust her?

"Tell me", Canada speaks up, "tell me about our father, how he first communicated with the both of you after ten years." There was a hint of jealousy too, it seems.

Aussie and Kiwi look at each other, then back at their siblings who both have hard and unforgiving eyes, and sigh.

"Well, it started over a few weeks ago..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 日本帝国- Nippon Teikoku
> 
> 国- Koku
> 
> 友だち- friend
> 
> привет, японская империя- greetings, Japan Empire
> 
> Ублюдок- bastard
> 
> Китайская Республика- Republic of China
> 
> Прошлое - это настоящее, а настоящее - это прошлое- the past is present and the present is past
> 
> моя игрушка- my toy
> 
> так долго, Советский Союз- so long, Soviet Union
> 
> Apparently North Korea’s national animal is a winged horse like a pegasus, and it’s called Chollima. Tengri is... spoiler if you haven’t had context


	6. One Night and One More Time, Thanks For The Memories

_It was a rainy day when our first encounter with Him happened. I was silently examining our files for Teikoku, the rain pouring down on our office slowly but surely. I was smoking on a pipe, smoke coming out from it, the curtains drawn as I am plunged into a dark setting-_ **  
**

"Australia!", Kiwi's voice shatters the tone of Aussie's voice, and his brother glares at him. "You weren't smoking a pipe when Britain called us! You don't even smoke a pipe at all!"

"Psh, Kiwi, let me narrate the story since your sheepfucker brain couldn't start one sentence!"

Kiwi looks offended, clutching his heart dramatically. "I am not a sheepfucker, how many times do I have to tell you! Fine then. Go on with how we got a call from Britain!"

_The door opens, and I raise my head up from the documents to find my sheepfucker of a brother enter the doors, coffee in one hand and carrying a tired expression on his face. His eyes show as if he didn't sleep for a few days, wrinkles underneath his eyes. I raise a brow as he steps forward and gives me the cup of coffee I've yearned for the entire morning._

_"So what's the news?", I ask, puffing up smoke to white billows in the office, and he sighs._

_"Nothing", Kiwi replies with a small sigh. "America's been working me off and I really need a break."_

_I nod agreeably, also releasing an exhausted sigh. We love our sister very much but sometimes... she's overbearing. "Is it about those mafia mobs running around the whole city?"_

_"Apparently so", Kiwi nods, as I sip on my coffee. "America is getting restless."_

_"It's because she's the head of the police", I reply, "she has to do a good job y'know."_

_Kiwi shrugs, "Yeah..."_

_Suddenly, my phone starts ringing, and I look at the name of the person who called before my heart starts to beat out loud, even louder than the rain pouring._

_With a deep breath, I pick up._

_"Hi!", the beautiful French accent speaks from the speaker of my phone, and I immediately sigh as the entire world around me becomes as warm as the feeling I am feeling in my heart. I wish I could see her again in real life and not in my phone, but her voice is melodious._

_I can feel Kiwi rolling his eyes from in front of me, but I don't care, since I'm talking to Villers, the love of my life, the angel to my heaven, the moon to my sun, the French to my English-_

_"The 'French to my English'?", Canada mimicks Aussie's voice while the others snicker, and the narrator glares at them._

_"Oh shut up", he grumbles, crossing his arms and looking the other way, before smiling mischievously, "you just don't have any girlfriend or boyfriends yet."_

_America glares at him with malice and envy, the same way she's glared at him when he said he and Villers are a thing; Canada crosses his arms and raises a brow, not really hindered about how Australia keeps taking jabs at their status, while Kiwi rolls his eyes tiredly, already knowing his antics._

_"Can you just go back to the story?", Kiwi asks, "or I'll continue it myself."_

_Australia's eyes flare as he goes back to the main plot._

_"Are you done with work?", Villers' sweet voice asks me again, and I find myself smiling stupidly and my heart beating once again, fiddling with my pipe._

_"Unfortunately, no", I say dejectedly, looking at the downpour at the windows. I hear her let out a breath of longing that made me want to find her and tell her that I'm free for her, always._

_"Alright", she says, sounding despondent and I now want to cuddle her up in the fluffiest of pillows and coziest of blankets, showering her with kisses as my arms envelop around her like a swan. "Tell me if you're free. **Au revoir**!" She hangs up and I can find myself missing her already, expecting myself to run across the rain towards her home._

_"So", I turn back to my brother, "what's the news?"_

_"Surprisingly, no major news except a few more mobs clashed once again", Kiwi replies in a professional accent, as if he's professional or older. "Like France and Reich had a shootout again. This time Netherlands' mob got into this crossfire."_

_"Netherlands?", I repeat, "isn't she the mob boss that has a vendetta against us?"_

_Kiwi shrugs, "Yeah, I guess."_

_Just then, when lightning streaks the sky and lights up the gray surroundings for a bit, the power in the office turns off, and Kiwi shrieks a womanly shriek while I caress the gun hidden in my coat-_

"First of all", Kiwi interjects, a red tinge on his cheeks, "I did not scream; you did. Second, we both don't have our guns at the time, and third you were the one saying we're gonna die."

"Leave it to tell New Zealand the truth", Canada sniggers to America.

_"Don't worry Kiwi, I'll save the both of us-", but before I can continue, the lights turn back on and the fan on my desk starts to twirl, as if nothing happened. Then I look onto the wall, and I gasp, almost dropping the gun to the floor._

_Because there was something on the wall._

_Something written on it with cursive handwriting, as if they had time in the world for such a thing._

_It was in crimson red, a message haunting me to this very day,_

_"The first step is for your love to surprise you, the next is to look at the edge of her dress."_

_Me and Kiwi glance at each other with wide eyes before going back to inspect the writing on the walls. I approach it while my coward of a brother is shaking and telling me to be cautious, believing it's booby-trapped. I examine the handwriting once again; how can anyone have time to write such a message just seconds after the power went out? I put out a finger and smear the message, blinking once it smudges with the wall._

_"It looks like our vandal used lipstick", I mumble before going back to Kiwi, who was silent, meaning he was thinking of something. I reread the message again, still quite confused to what the vandal means._

_"I think I know what it means", Kiwi says with realization striking in his glittering eyes. "Maybe we need to plan a surprise party for someone we both love! And then- oh."_

_"Disgusting!", I bellow, my eyes flaring. "We are not surprising America and checking underneath her skirt!"_

_"I have no idea who really said that, but I'd beat you both to Sunday if you do that", America pipes up, crossing her arms while glaring at her brothers. "Also, it means wait for your love to surprise you, meaning they'll be the one bringing the note to you."_

_"Yeah, that's where I was getting at", Aussie replies, "until you manage to interrupt us."_

_"I don't know", Kiwi says with a thoughtful look in his eyes, staring and examining the message once again, "maybe it's your love, Aussie."_

_I blink, processing what my brother just said before blushing red and ruffling my brother. "I am not going to look under her skirts Kiwi!"_

_"You say that but you've been watching her whenever she bends down to pick something up", Kiwi states with an emotionless look in his eyes. "So maybe, just maybe, Villers is going to surprise you."_

_"Now that's absurd!", my voice slaps, "a message couldn't tell the future!"_

_"Not if the future is happening now", Kiwi replies ominously, pointing to the windows._

_I follow his finger and, there she is, my soon-to-be-wife, engagement ring and all, holding an umbrella over her head while on her other hand she was holding a picnic basket despite the despondent weather. Her beautiful and striking dark eyes roam each window, before meeting my eyes._

_My arms go slack and my legs turn to jelly once again, as I hold her loving stare as she smiles warmly._

_Not even the rain can get rid of my sunshine._

_"I'm just really worried for you, **mon amour** ", Villers says as her arms wrap around me like a loving embrace. "And I was lonely in my home all alone."_

_"But I'm here now", I say, soothing her nerves like she was doing with me. "You don't have to be lonely."_

_"I love you", she says softly, and the whole world implodes and creates the Milky Way between the both of us._

_I tilt her chin up, our eyes shining bright like diamonds. "I love you too."_

_I kiss her right then and there, feeling nothing but her body and warm lips on mine, time standing still and not moving on as I can feel the both of us floating, floating to the skies then to the cosmics, no space between us. She runs her hands over my back as she leans in for more, and my hands roam her light hair with my fingers as my hand reaches the edge of her skirt, hearing her gasp as I touch what was beyond her clothing._

"Disgusting", Kiwi says, face souring as his mind replays the scene without his permission, while Aussie looks so enamoured at the fact that he almost had the chance of doing something with his fianceè.

"Please just, censor the explicit scenes, Aussie?", America asks with a sigh.

_Then I feel something with my other hand, which had stopped at the edge of her dress. Puzzled, I kiss her deeply once again before letting go, a piece of paper I extracted from her skirts in my hand._

_Meanwhile, Villers was still looking dazed and love struck from the touch and kiss we shared, until her eyes land on the card on my hands._

_"Did that come from...?" I nod awkwardly, biting my lip as my love's face turns bright red and inspects her dress for more stray particles. "I am so sorry!"_

_I kiss her forehead reassuringly, "It's fine." I glance at the card again as I read the entirety of the message, still written in the enthralling cursive from the walls._

_"Let the birds come to you once you are at the highest peak of The City."_

_"What?", Kiwi says from behind me; he must've also been reading the message. "What does that mean?"_

_"I don't even know Kiwi", I reply, rereading the message again. "Maybe it really means what it means?"_

_Kiwi meets my eyes, "And what does it mean?"_

_I shrug, my brain coming up empty. "Maybe we need to find the highest peak in this land? Like climbing a mountain and let the birds do the rest?"_

_Kiwi scoffs as he rolls his eyes at my answer. "And what are they gonna do? Fly us towards our destination? And why a mountain? We're in the middle of a City, Aussie."_

_"Maybe it means the birds will point us to our next target!", I give out another suggestion. "Or they'll crap on us like the barbaric birds they are and not give us any clue to where or who this message leads to."_

_"Maybe they're trained", Kiwi muses as my mind launches off to new theories on what this all means._

_Perhaps it means that the 'birds' are aeroplanes?, my mind processes, or maybe this is all a big prank from some asshole who think it'd be funny to prank people doing their job..._

_Meanwhile, Villers was silently reading the message with her big eyes, moving on from how the card got into its destination the first place, before looking at me with those big eyes I get lost in every time. "Well, the messenger said 'highest peak of The City', right? Maybe it means you two have to scale the highest building here."_

_Me and Kiwi exchange looks, before my face morphs into a huge smile before hugging my beautiful and smart future wife. I shower her forehead with kisses once again, emitting a beautiful laugh from her mouth as she looks at me with joy._

_Kiwi's eyes light up, "Maybe that's it! I think we need to scale the tallest building in The City!"_

_"Which is?" I think for a moment; there are tonnes of tall buildings in this City._

_"Deutsche Towers", Villers responds with a breath, and I know what it means- she was reminiscing the times where she had been caught in a crossfire between two rival gangs; mostly against the Deutsches Family. Her eyes had a clouded look, as if controlling those horrid memories surging in her, but I couldn't help but remember how I had saved the girl who would become my future wife. The event was awful, of course, but it made the both of us responsible and more in love with one another._

"Please don't tell me you were going to tell the story of how you met her", America interrupts surly, "because we were there when you both met."

Aussie rolls his eyes, "Okay, okay, I won't. Although the readers might be disappointed at the lack of a love tale."

America blinks, confused, "Readers?”

Aussie ignores the question and continues,

_Kiwi breaks the silence by saying, dejectedly, "Looks like we're gonna have to ask those stingy rich upper class men entrance to the Towers, huh?"_

_I nod with a look of exhaustion on my face, "Yep." I look at Villers once again, "are you coming with us?"_

_Villers fidgets on her place, looking from left to right then back at me with those beautiful eyes I always see in my dreams. "Maybe it would be better for me as a lookout."_

_I grin at her, "You bet."_

_"Oh come on!", I cry out to one of the guards in the area, pacing back and forth until I glare at their faceless beings underneath their uniforms, "you guys are always open!"_

_"Sir, I understand your confusion", says one of the guards, not breaking out of their stride, "but Mister Reich ordered us not to let anyone onto the top of the building."_

_"And why?", I pry, raising a demanding brow at the both of them, who both sneak furtive glances before playing stoic guards. "Even his father of all people let strangers into the top of the Towers!"_

_The guard shakes his head, still straight-faced, but there was a glint of sadness in his eyes. "His father is dearly departed."_

_Me and Kiwi's eyes widen in shock, and we both know what we were thinking: Deutsches Reich? Dead? Shouldn't this be on the news?_

_"Shouldn't we know that Deutsches Reich died?", I ask the guards. "Why are we only hearing this now?"_

_"Because, gentlemen", a new, frigid voice adjourns my and the guard's conversation, and me and my brother turn the other way to find a man with messy blonde curls posing in front of a painting. His dark green eyes stare right into our souls, as if we were the jewels he has been looking for and he has succeeded. He smiles at us in a peculiar manner, as if he was a serial killer finally meeting his target. "I ordered them to keep my father's... tragic death a secret."_

_Once again, Weimar stares at me, his grin growing larger. I swallow down the feeling that something is very wrong with the man that had once been afraid of his own shadow._

_I give him a smile in return (although it was nervous and awkward, and I hope he’d never make eye contact with me again), and saying, “Mister Weimar, please let us pass. And your secret will never reach the public's ears.”_

_Weimar only smiles as a reply, a breeze sweeping into the room, telling me oh, how wrong I was to even ask him such a pathetic request. He takes a step forward, slow and calculated, as if he is teasing his prey step by step until he jumps to them and gnash his teeth. I try to move backwards, but my feet were stuck in the ground, not cooperating with me._

_He was a few inches from my face, lips curled into an off grin, his emerald green eyes a vision of my death. There was a cold and dark air enveloping him while he embraces it with a haunting sigh._

_“You’re ordering **me**?”, he says with gritted teeth, still in a smile that I will not shake off, even in my nightmares. “I’m not your slave. I’m not someone to step on. I’m nothing like him anymore. I’m not that coward you know.”_

_We have a silent stare off for God knows how long, Weimar poised for the kill as his emerald green eyes glimmer with intent, intent to see my dead body, as Kiwi looks on to the both of us._

_“Papa!”, a voice breaks through the air, and the whole room turns to the source; a young boy holding a girl’s hand who resembles him. A taller, older figure stands behind them, grey eyes tracking the room, strawberry blonde curls concealing his eyes before he fiddles with it._

_Weimar’s smile slowly loosens as he turns to glare at the newcomers, specifically the elder. His green eyes bore hatred towards the twins’ guardian, but instead of shivering like I am now, he stares back at him with an unreadable expression._

_“I told you to keep them confined in their rooms, Österreich”, he says with a slight snarl._

_Österreich shrugs, “They wanted to play, Weimar. And who can deny them? I can’t.” He chuckles as West and Ost gossip to each other, naive children in the world._

_Weimar scowls at his children, which makes me confused because everyone knows that Weimar loves his children to hell and back. I clear my throat, and once again everyone looks back at me, Weimar’s glare redirected towards me._

_“You’re still here?”, he asks, looking at my form, then forming a smile on his face once again. Jesus Christ, I’m a little intimidated by this new Weimar. “Why the rush to go up my towers, **dummkopf**? Is it to make you feel like you scare me? But I’m not scared of you anymore. Never. Never again will I be scared of gun-wielding hooligans.”_

_“Please, sir”, Kiwi speaks up, voice small, “we just needed to see something on top of the Towers.”_

_Weimar stares at him, a grin still plastered across his face like a mask, not saying anything as if he was considering his request. He shrugs playfully, “Well then, since you asked so nicely-” his eyes glint to me for a second, “I will let you to the top of my towers.”_

_“Oh my god thank you so much Sir!”, Kiwi says with a look of relief._

_“But”, his voice is abrupt, static jumping upon static, “you will have to take the stairs.”_

_My jaw drops, “Wait… are you **serious**?”_

_Weimar just smiles in reply, his eyes looking towards the stairs as me and Kiwi stare at it for a bit, before finally noting that he is - indeed - telling us to take the stairs._

_So, with our feet raised, we take the first step to heaven. Before that, however, there was something on Weimar’s hand that almost escaped my eyes: a necklace of pearls that I know belonged to his mother._

“Let’s just say that climbing thirty-one floors wasn’t a dream”, Aussie says, sighing, as Kiwi nods. “I’ll skip to only the important details.”

_I heave an exhausted sigh as I unbutton my shirt and fan myself with it, while I hear Kiwi panting from behind me and I can’t blame him- we were only three floors high and I feel my lungs starting to collapse underneath the pressure. Once we reach the fourth floor, we both spot Teikoku and Koku lounging around the lounge, hearing them speak, before moving on._

_“Jesus this place loves spirals”, Kiwi says between pants as he takes of his silver fern jacket to fan himself with._

_“Yep”, I agree, Teikoku and Koku’s voices already fading now-_

“Wait”, America interrupts Aussie’s tale, much to his irritation. “Teikoku and Koku were there? Did you hear them say anything?

“Alright, fine, I’ll go back to it”, he says.

**[RECORD SCRATCH, FREEZE FRAME, REWIND THREE SECONDS]**

_“Isn’t that Koku and Teikoku? In Weimar’s building?”, Kiwi points out, voice a soft whisper to not attract their attention._

_“Let’s get closer”, I whisper back to him, as we break away from the steps and into close distance with one mafia mob boss and his brother._

_Koku was leaning on the sofa, messy dark hair covering one of his grey eyes like he was a popstar emo goth boy model while he checks his phone. Teikoku, on the other hand, was sitting on the sofas with an imperious way, as if he owns the place. He was biting his lip, muttering something in Japanese as he looks around with his crimson red eyes, searching for someone._

_Koku spots him impulsively sitting on his ‘throne’ and sighs, “Look, I knew this was going to be a bad idea.”_

_Teikoku’s piercing gaze redirects to Koku, “You don’t have a say in this matter, **okosama**.”_

_Koku’s eyes flare up in anger at the last word, “I’m not a child, Teikoku. If anyone’s the ‘child’ here, it’d be the girl you’re forcing **ME** to marry!”_

_I blink, not knowing that Koku would have the courage to even look at his brother with anger in his eyes, but Teikoku abruptly stands from his seat, looking forward to murder someone with his words. “You dare talk back to me?” His shadow looms over Koku, whose eyes are now tinged with fear and regret for speaking up against his brother. Before Koku opens his mouth once again to answer that no, he wasn’t disrespecting him, Teikoku pins him to the wall with a sound resonating from it._

_“Were you questioning my authority?”, he seethes, his fingers digging deep into Koku’s skull, who was looking choked and suffocated._

_I was watching this with an ignited fury in me, I raise from my hiding place before Kiwi pulls me back down, shaking his head. We only came here for one thing and it was to know who was sending us these messages._

_“At last”, I breathe, fresh and moist air from rain colliding with my face like a soft blanket. “We’re free!”_

_“And look!”, Kiwi points at something on the dark grey skies, “a flock of birds are coming!”_

_I glance up in the sky, and Kiwi was right: dark-colored specs were dancing across the sky, growing larger and larger, until they were above us. I let out a gasp of joy as I see what kind of birds they were: robins, with one of them having a slip of paper in its beak, opening it and letting the slip of paper drop into my open palm, before pivoting to one corner and soaring to the direction in where they came from, with Kiwi waving back at them._

_Meanwhile, I was already reading the slip of paper:_

_“The trains might show you the way, yes, but that doesn’t mean you have to get on it, because the houses near the railways are watching you. Be smart and follow the signs.”_

_“Okay, now this is bullshit”, I say, back in my office, as Kiwi paces back and forth, muttering possible interpretations of the messages._

_“Maybe the signs mean the train station signs?”, I can hear one of his murmurs, “And the ‘houses near the railways’ watching us are just other mob bosses… maybe.”_

_Meanwhile, Villers was snacking on one of the foods she brought in her picnic basket, also lost in thought. I siddle up next to her and she cozies herself on my body, and we both share warmth._

_“So”, I whisper, lips on her ear, making her shudder as she holds on to me, “what are you thinking, hm?”_

_“ **À propos de vous, bien sûr”** , she whispers, red lips staining my face, her voice making my insides heated and red. “And the message to help you too.”_

_“Of course, but first…” I kiss her once again, exploring the caves of her mouth, her arms swinging around my neck as I hoist her up to sit on my lap, my hands roaming every single part of her body, loving the way she gasps and shudders once I touch what was meant to be sacred, my arousal growing-_

“Australia!”, America says, glaring at Aussie, “I said censor the inappropriate parts! That wasn’t appropriate!”

“Alright alright!”, Aussie says, arms up in surrender, “I’m just going to continue…”

_“I get it now!”, Villers says as she reads the message once again, “the trains won’t give us the signs, the sender of these messages is going to be the one giving us! But we still have to watch out for the houses near the railways, maybe they’ll give us a hard time getting to our destination.”_

_“Alright”, I say, getting up, “let’s not waste anymore time and meet our sender.”_

_“We wasted time”, Kiwi deadpans as he tries to struggle against his binds, glaring up at Belgium, his captor. Me and Villers, on the other hand, were tied up together by Luxembourg, who wasn’t looking at us and was rather looking at his reflection in the mirror, rambling about how he won’t look ‘pleasant’ in his date._

_“ **Mon Dieu,** Luxembourg”, Belgium spits at his direction and he scowls right back at his sister, “quit your egotistical self-care routine and help me take these **klootzakken** to **Moeder**!”_

_Luxembourg glances away from his mirror and replies, “Fine, fine, whatever.” He pushes me and Villers away from the railways, and we hear a train coming into the tracks like it was nothing. I hold Villers’ hand when we finally felt our touch next to each other, our pulses becoming one as our heartbeats only call for each other. I fell in love with the right woman, and she fell in love with the wrong man._

_We were forced to follow Netherlands’ kids into their hideout, their men looking at us with dark eyes full of intent, and I see some of them staring and sneering maliciously towards my love, and I glare back at them. One wrong move, my eyes say, there will be a bullet through all of your heads. No one will touch my wife the wrong way, no one._

_“ **Op je knieën**!”, Lux orders, voice hard and low, and we all follow because we are not sparing a bullet in our heads. I can feel Villers shivering and fearing her death, and I soothe her by rubbing discreet and unseen circles on her back._

_“ **Moeder** ”, Belgium says as she approaches a swivel chair, concealed by the dark, but I can see smoke forming, and a pale hand holding the cigarette with two fingers. “ **We hebben Britse zonen gevangen genomen.** ”_

_**“Ik kan dat België zien** ”, comes her mother’s reply, a voice of reason and peace, yet I’m not feeling peaceful now. She turns around to face us, blonde hair and stormy grey eyes highlighted into the dark room, and her two kids stand right beside her, her lieges in battle._

_“So”, she speaks once again, puffing out more smoke, but I can see her arms shaking and eyes looking as if she had too much cannabis to snort. “Looking for the bastard, hm?”_

_I sigh, signalling the start of a fight with her once again, “Netherlands, we aren’t here to fight. And who’s to say we were looking for our Dad who left us to our devices?”_

_**It’s not like my dad would come back for me, though,** a horrible thought enters my mind, as I stare at the ground once again, feeling Villers’ body warming me._

_Netherlands laughs, her voice unstable and shaking for some reason, as if there was a quake happening on her seat. “You boys are **idioten** if you don’t believe your father isn’t the one sending you messages.”_

_“He’s the one… sending the clues to us?”, I ask, disbelief evident in my face, a cold feeling now lying in me. “But why? He left us!”_

_“Oh **ik weet het niet**!”, Netherlands says exaggerated, throwing her arms up as she shoves her now dim-lit cigarette into Luxembourg’s hands, who was busily checking his hair for stray strands in his reflection._

_Kiwi sighs, and I hear him slip into his native language, **“Ka patu ahau ki a ratou**.” I remembered that back in the old days when we were still living under Britain, he had taught himself how to read, write, and speak Maori, in which Britain retaliated by burning his books and hitting him repeatedly. I can’t ever get it over with._

_“Mom, why do we have them?”, Luxembourg asks as he fixes his dark blonde curls, “we don’t care about them anymore, don’t we?”_

_Suddenly, Netherlands’ hazy grey eyes respond with fear, as she grips onto her chair even more. “Because he needs them.”_

_“‘He?’”, I repeat, “who’s he?”_

_Netherlands didn’t reply, and only stared into the distance, before her gaze hardens once again as she looks back at us with hatred._

_“Luxembourg, take them to the cells”, she says, and with one pause from Lux, he nods before pulling at our binds. “Belgium, stay here while I go check outside.”_

_Belgium looks at her mother, bewildered by her sudden anxiety and paranoia. “But… why?”_

_Netherlands glares back at her, “You know why.”_

_Belgium’s face clouds over as she nods, disappearing into the curtains behind the throne. I didn’t really have a say in anything, since I was literally being pulled into a stinking cell, but then I feel the tight binds around us loosen, as if someone had snipped it all away._

_“Alright, you’re free to go”, Luxembourg says with a huge flirtatious smile on his face, not at me and Villers but at Kiwi, who was grinning back at him as well, but there was fear in his dark blue eyes. I catch his stare and he looks back at me, eyes screaming **HELP** before smirking back at Lux, meeting his seductive gaze._

_“So, when are you free?”, Kiwi asks in the least awkward voice he could muster._

_“Eight on Saturday, **lieveling** ”, Lux says as he kisses Kiwi on the cheek before stalking off, “also, secret exit’s that way.” He points to the right, an open door waiting for us. Then he meets Kiwi’s eyes again, seemingly never moving on from New Zealand’s body. “And I assure you that I’d bring my ‘lucky ring’.” He winks at Kiwi before stalking off and leaving us to our own devices._

“Are you saying our baby brother here bribed to be freed by asking Lux out on a date?”, America guffaws, and Canada snickers. Meanwhile, Aussie was smirking triumphantly and New Zealand was blushing red.

“How was the date with Lux, though?”, Canada asks Kiwi, leaning in, “was it good?”

“B-better than a one-night stand”, he says as he looks back at Canada, who raises a brow at his defiance. His eyes target America’s. “Better than the guys you had tried to do.”

Aussie clears his throat, already wanting to get back to his story since he can feel everyone’s eyes on each other,

_“So what’re the signs Britain left for us?”, I ask, huffing a breath as a gust of cold air whispers strange sounds into my ear, knowing all about my damned desires. My eyes were roaming anywhere near the trains, reading the signs with my eyes but there was nothing outstanding with them. “I don’t see anything.”_

_“What if it’s going to come to us?”, Villers hypothesizes once again, a thoughtful look on her face. “What if Britain himself is going to be the one to deliver perhaps the final message to us, hinting on where to go first?”_

_Kiwi adds on to this, “Maybe you’re right, since it’s almost sundown.”_

_“We wait”, I say, nodding, looking towards the sky with wonder. When I was a young boy, me and my siblings would watch the sun set, pink, orange, purple and blue colliding with each other in perfect harmony to create a web of colours that would turn the sky to a massive garden of them. I feel Villers once again pressing into me, hands brushing mine before we both clasp our hands together, the great warmth surging towards us._

_We wait._

_Then we wait for some more, the pink and orange fading and giving into the dark blue and purple, the last traces of the sun dying out and giving way for dusk to transition to night._

_The stars appear, one by one, signalling the reign of the moon is supreme for the night, no more, no less. Some were even free falling from the evening sky like they were tears being washed away by Nyx herself, as if they didn’t belong to hers, just insignificant tiny dots in the sky._

_Insignificant like me._

_But those falling stars were replaced by brand new rising stars, only they were bigger, then I realize they weren’t stars at all: they were fireworks._

_Maybe this was Britain’s final message._

_Or maybe this was just a fireworks display._

_Then the fireworks, with its whistling and popping, starts to form words, and my eyes flare like the firecrackers Britain is firing._

_“One last message to you all; meet a man with auburn hair with a black car… he will find you for me.”_

_“ **Olá** ”, a new voice, deep yet soothing sounds behind us, and we see a man with auburn hair and a single green eye, his other eye concealed with an eye patch. He smiles at us like a father would, “ **meu nome é** Portugal, and I’m here to escort you all to your **pai**.”_

_It was a silent car ride, none of us really talking while Portugal was humming to the music in the radio. I, however, did not enjoy silent car rides, and so I ask the first question in my head._

_“So, what are you to Dad? Are you his personal butler, slave, friend-”_

_“I’m his boyfriend”, Portugal says, face now clouded with dreams as his eye fogs over. Kiwi and I widen our eyes, giving each other glances of shock. Our father, who smacked Canada twice for being caught in bed with boys, is now in love with a man as well?_

_“I don’t understand”, I say- there was something wrong with me, there was something wrong with my insides as they give me memories of an awful father who would train his children to become master assassins, who is merciless with the gun and hands, whose judgement is never for us._

_Portugal looks back at me in the rear view mirror, face full of pity, but I don’t want that pity. I don’t need that._

_“We were rivals, you see”, he says in a soft voice, but it still had a paternal instinct hidden within. “When he escaped from your City and went into ours, he ransacked towns and almost risked me and my men from his hands. And then, only when we met in a civil manner, did we actually learn to like each other, then love each other. Some say it was a bond of best friends and, well… they weren’t wrong.”_

_“What did Dad do after he escaped from jail, aside from meeting you and ransacking cities and endangering mobs?”, I can feel my throat straining, as if the world doesn’t want me to not display my weaknesses out in the open._

_“Well, he created a brand new company on his own, which impressed me”, Portugal replies, “well, not really, perhaps; he robbed his own money from the company he used to own.”_

_“Ah”, Kiwi deadpans, “no wonder all that money Dad supposedly ‘left’ to us suddenly disappeared one day.”_

_“He also aspired to be a musician”, Portugal muses, “always rambling on about his song ideas to me, and even learning how to play some instruments himself.”_

_I have no more questions left in me, my body going slack, the day draining me as we come nearer to the home of the man who is supposedly dead._

_Or maybe **I’m** dead, and he was alive._

Canada frowns, “What’s with the self-deprecating comments, Aussie?”

“Self-deprecation? _Me_?”, Aussie scoffs, shaking his head. “You all need to know about sarcasm and how it saves a story from disruption.

Meanwhile, Kiwi was looking his way, knowing what was about to come and the sudden change in his brother’s demeanor.

_We follow Portugal into the hallways, seeing dozens of sculptures staring at us, knowing what our fates were. Villers’ hand tangles with mine, and I love her every second we were here, accompanying me once we are faced with the ghosts of the past, the ghost of Britain becoming physical from my deepest nightmares, toying with me once again._

_“It’s okay, **je suis là** ”, she says in a soothing voice, and I wanted her to caress me one more time. **“vous êtes si courageux**.”_

_“But I’m not as brave as you”, I tell her softly, cupping her cheeks, “and I’m now paying the price for it.”_

_“No, stop saying that”, she bites, “you will always be my loving and brave husband.”_

_I can feel tears touching my eyes, and I try concealing them in the moonlight. “ **Je** **t'aime** **tellement**.”_

_She kisses my forehead. “ **Je t'aime aussi.** ”_

_Portugal stops behind an ominous-looking door, and my brain forced me to recall the days I spent looking at my father’s door with fear, when I was a small child, afraid of my father, and even now I still am, because I am a coward._

_“Beyond this door is your father”, he says, staring straight into my soul. “And I wish you good luck.” He leaves us in front of the door, its mahogany woods waiting for our demise._

_As the eldest and the one who knew my dad well out of the three, I softly knock on the door a few times, before entering._

_The entire room was surprisingly dim-lit, a lamp on a bedside table, as we were face-to-face with a desk, swivel chair behind it._

_“We finally meet”, a clear voice says from behind the desk. “After a decade of waiting.”_

_I swallow the creeping fear in my stomach: I’m not the same person anymore. He’s not the same. We are both older and wiser, as the sayings go._

_“It’s nice to meet you again, Dad”, I say, and he turns his chair around, ashen face and light blonde hair disturbed by white strands, his lips curled into a smile. He was stroking a pet corgi, who was comfortably seated and sleeping on his lap. He was wearing a business suit, shoes and all, as his dark blue eyes glinted back at me with a look of rejoice. “And you’re old.”_

_The smile on Dad’s face fades, replaced with a look of indignance, and I already regret the words coming out from my mouth. “After ten years of not seeing each other again, those are the words you speak to me?”_

_Kiwi muffles a laughter in his jacket, and Villers elbows me because I was being rude to my own father._

_“ **E Tama, pai ki te kite ano koe”** , Kiwi says to Dad in Maori, perhaps to spite him, but Britain gives him a wide smile in return._

_“I missed you.” Kiwi blinks; I too expected Dad to scowl at the language, but he didn’t and only looked as if he treasured us._

_Then he glances at Villers, who was hiding behind me and looking at her (unfortunately) future father-in-law with shyness. “And congratulations, my dear, you scored a keeper.” I blink at Dad, puzzled as to why he approved of our relationship. When I came home holding an unconscious girl’s body, he had almost shot me in the head._

_She blushes hard, looking at me with desire in her eyes, but Dad wasn’t done yet, as his expression morphs into a thoughtful one._

_“Although I am quite disappointed with your moves, son”, he tells me, and I can’t help but blink in confusion._

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I’ve seen the moves you’ve done on Villers and, quite frankly, I am not impressed.”_

_“Wh-what moves?”_

_“All of the messages contain hidden cameras, and I manage to catch quite a scenery in your office.” His eyes glance at me, then back at Villers, as realization strikes within me._

_“You… oh my god…” My cheeks colour red as Villers hides behind me even more, quite embarrassed and who can blame her?_

_“ **Awkward** ”, Kiwi mutters underneath his breath, also having second-hand embarrassment._

_“Now, I think you are all hungry?”_

_“Not much after you told me you installed cameras in your messages.”_

_“So you wish to sleep now?”_

_I look at Villers, her eyes drooping slightly, trying to stay awake, then at Kiwi, who was staring exhaustedly into the night. Even me, always so full of energy, need time for beauty sleep._

_“Yeah.”_

_Luckily enough, my Dad decided to give me and Villers the furthest guest room, away from most people. Villers was nuzzling against my chest, her breaths giving me warmth, her touch comforting me. I hold her, treasuring the greatest gift of all time. I can't sleep since my mind is plagued with questions. And thoughts about how this will all end._

_“You’re scared”, Villers whispers into my chest, and I sigh and kiss her forehead._

_“I’m not.” I look into her eyes, the entire galaxy waiting for me. “Believe me.”_

_She sighs, turning away to face the dim walls, “I still remember waking up in your room, covered in bandages. I was scared and helpless, and when I saw you I thought you were going to… well…”_

_“I know”, I reply, “I could see it in your eyes. But I can’t blame you.”_

_“But here we are”, she whispers, “lovers in your father’s house.”_

_She looks at me once again before leaning up to kiss me, and I kiss her back, levelling her with myself, arms going around with each other’s waists and neck. I can feel lust and desire pooling in me now, wanting to tear that beautiful dress she was wearing to pieces and biting her skin to claim her as mine, mine, mine. I enter my tongue into her mouth, tasting how sweet and warm her insides are, loving every noises she makes as she clings tighter to me. I can once again feel my arousal growing, as I kiss the woman of my dreams more, deeper and deeper, and I untie the laces of her dress, not taking it anymore. I flip her on her back as I unbuckle my belt, kissing her once again._

_“Guys, if only you would’ve kept it down I’d have slept peacefully”, a voice wakes the both of us up, and I immediately cover a naked Villers with the sheets. Problem is is that I don’t have anything covering me anymore. Kiwi covers his eyes, “Jesus Christ Aussie, put some clothes on!” I retaliate by covering my region with a pillow and scowling sleepily at my younger brother._

_“What’s up, Kiwi?”, I ask civilly. “Or you just want to humiliate your brother?”_

_“You know ‘what’s up’? Your dick last night”, Kiwi sits down on a chair next to the bed. “Anyway, breakfast is downstairs, me and Dad are going to head out.”_

_I sit up, still handling the pillow, “Wait what? Why?”_

_“He said he was going to show me something”, Kiwi shrugs, “also once he’s done showing me something he has something to tell you.”_

_I nod, “Alright. See you later then.”_

_I watch as he walks out the door, giving me a cursory glance._

“I’ll tell the rest of the story”, Kiwi volunteers, looking at Australia, who nods approvingly.

_As New Zealand closes the door from the nightmare he had just seen, he exhales- there is nothing in this entire world that could comfort him now. Sometimes his mind would wander back to the days when everything was large, tall, and cruel to him, back to the days the eyes glaring down at him could burn him alive, but he cannot scream as he is on thin ice, mouth always shut, mind and body subservient to his father._

_Then again, he cannot fight his own father back in his days of youth- all he had to do was to survive and do as he says, only a machine in his eyes, not a child with feelings._

_He looks at his hands: back then he had held a gun with his grubby and soft little hands, only supposed to hold dirt and toys and nothing as heavy as metal upon metal. He remembers Britain’s dark blue eyes watching him, daggers piercing his small heart as he gulps and tries shooting his target._

_Kiwi puts his hands in his pockets like he was hiding something, something important… but the only thing he is hiding is his fear for his father._

_He hears his father’s bedroom door closing behind him, and he glances at Britain buttoning his coat up, and he smiles at Kiwi; such a rare feat back at home, when he only smiles at them during formal events but it is strained, forced, plastic, like he was swimming in the oceans full of contaminated waters and garbage, struggling to find the beauty in it._

_“Well then, let’s not waste any time”, Britain says, fixing his blonde locks and puts on a cap on his head. “Let’s go meet someone.”_

_Kiwi blinks, “Who?”_

_Britain watches him, eyes full of memory of ghosts beyond, “Your mother.”_

_Kiwi freezes, staring ahead before swivelling to face his father, who was still lost in thought and memories. It was a familiar gaze, one that Kiwi always sees in his father’s face whenever he thinks he was alone, perched on his small yet intricate table in the gardens, gripping his tea cup so hard Kiwi had feared he will break it and the hot liquid inside of it will drip down to his clothes to scald him._

_“You told me my mother was gone”, Kiwi answers, voice strained with emotion, bundles of ropes tying him up, mind clouding over with questions of the ghosts of the past._

_“ **Gone** ”, Britain repeats, voice also full of reminiscing. “Not **dead** , my son. And it is time for you to meet her.”_

_Kiwi can feel his heart beating even more, as he can finally meet the half of his heart, the mystery unraveled like the curtains of a stage part for him to see the entire play that is Britain’s life, from start to finish._

_The car ride was silent; only hearing the tires rolling on the road, talking and whispering in a heated conversation. Kiwi was looking out towards the window, but he can feel Britain’s gaze on him, as he drives, making him uncomfortable. The world was moving backwards as they move forward to find their destination, a finale to all. The sun was fighting against the dark clouds huddled around the corner, trying to conquer and annex all souls._

_“One day, the sun will die”, Britain muses as he goes back to focusing on the road. “And when that day comes everyone will rejoice.”_

_“Why would people rejoice when their only life source of energy dies?”, Kiwi asks._

_“Not that sun, my boy.” The message was so ominous that Kiwi reminds himself to keep his mouth shut._

_Yes, this car ride is as tense and silent as the House at Number 63._

_Britain parks the car just below the sweltering heat of the sun, always there, always watching their every move, the giant orb just a giant eye to monitor their every movement. Sometimes Kiwi can see crimson red tinges on it, as if the flares of the sun is its blood and it runs from its veins. Kiwi takes off his jacket to tie it upon his waist, and follows his father who did not wait for him to prepare and was already walking forward like a man who has lost his way._

_“Who is my mother?”, Kiwi asks sharply and tentatively, still scared that Britain will reply with a sharp tongue. He levels his steps as he catches up with his father, eyes ahead, shielded with distraction, memories, and the foggy resistance. He was clutching his cane tightly, knuckles turning white, as if he was going through all of the horrible memories and the deepest roots of his nightmares._

_“Your mother”, he mutters, “was a woman I wronged a long time ago.”_

_“What did you do to her? What happened to my mother after I was born?” Kiwi can feel himself becoming even more nervous as the near the establishment Britain claims his mother is working in._

_Britain suddenly whirls to him, eyes shining, “You must understand; she was the best of the best, the one who caught my heart too much and she wouldn’t let go. Not even when I vanish every so often. I loved her too much, and you were the product of it.”_

_Kiwi blinks, not even comprehending what his father is saying and why he must care. “But who is she?”_

_“A woman who can fight, a woman who had many moves to keep me away from her, until I gained the upper hand…”, he opens the door to the buildings, and Kiwi finds himself face to face with cold metal walls, and the creaking and sliding of other entrances. He can feel himself becoming even more curious, wanting to scream his questions at Britain and deafen his hearing in the process. Oh how much he had wanted to talk of his ills about the man who left him, long ago._

_They walk in a straight direction, and Kiwi can hear the growth of voices from a room. He watches his father, who was clasping his palms, lips curling into a thin line as the voices grow louder. They stop near a door, Britain in the position to open them, but he stays to stare at Kiwi with a look of longing._

_“Your mother was the famous stuntman, Maori.”_

_He opens the door, as if he was showing Kiwi the way to the secret garden but instead he is pushed into a set full of movie directors, producers, actors and backdrops onstage. Sometimes he would be puzzled at the fact that the scenes in each movie were not real; that they were made up from blood, sweat and tears of the writers and directors and actors, figments of imagination becoming real with the trick of programs and computers._

_It was as if they can fabricate the existence of these characters, that they have the knowledge to exist in the same world as Kiwi does, that they can be touched and they can have the power to exist._

_In the end, they are fiction; not real._

_While Kiwi was busily making paragraphs and paragraphs of sentences, Britain was talking to one of the producers of the set._

_“Miss Maori, our financer needs ya!”, the producer calls out to a woman near the stage, sitting with a group of actors, laughing at their own joke before her smile immediately falls at the sight of Britain, standing so casually like he had done no crime against the woman._

_She abruptly stands, excusing herself from her friends as she approaches Britain and New Zealand with a surly expression on her face. Her stance looks as if she was prepared to kick Britain in his most sensitive spot, and they come face to face, with Maori’s arms crossed and Britain giving her a casual expression._

_“You may be our financer, **Peretana** ”, Maori says in a slow, calculated voice, narrowed eyes trying to see through Britain’s relaxed aura, “but that doesn’t mean I’m bound to respect you.”_

_“Yes yes, we all know what you think of me”, Britain yawns, “but I am not here for you.”_

_Maori scoffs, raising a brow, “Oh? Then why call me?”_

_“Because”, Britain pushes Kiwi into Maori’s view, and her eyes turn to him. He awkwardly smiles and waves at the stunt woman, “this is our son, New Zealand.”_

_Maori blinks for a moment, taking her time surveying the boy in front of her, of how he can be her son, when all he had are flabby limbs and nothing resembling the woman in front of him, the woman that he was always so keen to solve, the woman that is the half of her heart. She glares at Britain once she is done scrutinizing Kiwi._

_“This prepubescent boy isn’t our son”, she spits acidly, “You’re trying to trick me again!”_

_Britain stares at her, unaffected by her sniping, “He is our son, Maori, believe it or not. And he’s twenty also, believe it or not.”_

_“He **can’t** be my son!”, she snarls at Britain, her eyes kindling fire, “He looks nothing like me! Nothing! Nothing! You’re playing me for fools! You think you can fool me once again? No! Never!” _

_Kiwi can now see tears forming in her eyes, as her body starts to shake, glaring at Britain with hatred and disgust in her eyes. He swallows his fire against Britain; if he has things to say to the man who claims to be his father, he lets his mother go first. He now has a sudden desire to pull his mother in a hug, hoping that maybe it can calm her down._

_So he does, feeling the shock of the older woman, her quivers starting to weaken before they immediately halt, an earthquake stopped by a force that shares her own magnitude. Maori lets out a gasp of surprise, but she returns his embrace, and for the first time in his life, he feels the love of a parent that would cherish, nurture and love him for the rest of his life, something he had wished for when he was little._

_Maori break their embrace to cup Kiwi’s cheek, a sad smile on her face, “ **Ko taku tama… ko koe taku tama**.”_

_“ **Whaea** ”, Kiwi chokes out, remembering the words he used to practice to spite his father, “ **Kei te aroha ahau ki a koe**.”_

_Maori chuckles as the tears come rushing down from her cheeks, “I love you too, **Aotearoa**.”_

_They embrace once again, mother and son reunited._

Canada sniffles as he wipes stray tears from his face, obviously quite affected from the story. Kiwi’s face seemed to cloud once again with memories, as America looked quite expressionless but there was something in her eyes. However, Australia was the only one that was not in the mood for this sob story to end, as he had one to tell. He can feel himself shaking, tapping his fingers into the table in a brisk way, eyes darting from left to right, his heart pumping and his voice becoming tangled all of a sudden.

Then his mind screams out to him.

It isn’t fair.

It isn’t fair that Kiwi can see his mom again when he can’t.

It isn’t fair that he can talk to his mother while he is stuck with a picture and a worthless father.

It isn’t fair that he has nothing to question anymore.

It isn’t fair Australia is alive and his mother is-

Australia instantaneously stands up from his chair, perturbing his siblings.

“Aussie?”, America queries, making a motion to stand, “what’s wrong?”

Australia doesn’t answer, only looking straight ahead, at the mirror, and he makes notes of his appearance; ginger hair, freckles that look like stars across the evening sky, dark blue eyes… he trembles, realizing how much he stole from his mother, how she could’ve been alive if he didn’t exist. He gulps, as he turns and runs out the room.

“Australia!”, America calls out, standing up and moving to follow her brother but Kiwi pulls her down, “Kiwi, let me go!”

“Look America”, Kiwi says calmly and professionally, “now isn’t the time for being the hero who comforts the victim; he needs some time to himself after what Britain told him.”

America lets out a breath, “What _did_ Dad tell him?”

Kiwi meets her eyes, serious, stern and slow, “His _mother_.”

_While New Zealand was busily spending time catching up with his dear mother, Australia and Villers were strolling through Britain’s gardens, hand-in-hand, humming tunes to keep each other company. It was a serene scenery, untouched by the war going inside of Australia’s head, as a bullet collides with his skull. One question was swirling around his mind,_

_**What did Britain want to tell him?** _

_Australia lets out a deep breath as he picks a rose from one of the rose bushes, carefully ignoring the thorns because he knows they can penetrate through his skin like a dozen ants trying to bite him. He puts the crimson red rose on Villers’ dark hair, and she blushes profusely, kissing him on the cheek, and he chuckles._

_Her legs buckle from underneath her and he acts as her railway, letting her lean into him, strawberry perfume entrancing the man next to her._

_“Did I hurt you?”, he asks softy._

_“I’m fine”, she replies, “I just didn’t know you had **that** much pent up frustration last night.”_

_Australia weakly chuckles, “I’m sorry.”_

_Villers softly laughs, the sound of the angels from above having a choir in the gardens, the light of the moon shining once more._

_Australia kisses her softly, lips on lips, never getting enough of her essence. She sighs a little, closing her eyes as she let him overtake their movements as he presses her up in one of the pillars, slipping his hand from underneath her skirt and undergarments, hearing her gasp once again, her skin growing warm as he steadily enters her with his fingers._

_As they were in their moment of passion, they fail to notice a newcomer to the gardens, until he makes his presence known to all._

_“Australia, my boy”, the newcomer states, and Australia and Villers squeal in surprise as Australia releases Villers from his grip and exits her, wiping his wet fingers on his shirt, as Villers covers her face with Australia’s discarded coat._

_“Dad”, Australia says with a breathy tone, his tone breathy. “What is it?”_

_“I have something to confess.” There was something in his tone, his tone that sounds quite regretful and remorseful, as if thousands of sins he had kept in a vault are now wishing to be unleashed to thousands. He turns his back to the couple, then glances at Australia again with a saddened look in his eyes, “Come with me, son.”_

_Australia and Villers share a look, and she nods, supporting him from afar. If she cannot come with him, she shall be in his dreams. He nods towards Britain, and he follows him inside of his home._

_“What do you want to tell me, dad?”, he asks, hands on his pockets, trying to break the heavy air around the two of them._

_“Your **mother** ”, his father replies, not giving him eye contact. “How we met and how you were born.”_

_Australia tilts his head, unsure of the fact why Britain thinks ‘ **how** ’ he was born was special enough for it to get a segment. He had known one thing and it is that Britain had never liked his appearance ever since his youth. He had always thought he looked more like his mother whenever Britain glared at him with those hateful eyes._

_“Who **was** my mother?”, he asks, staring down at the floors, dreading the answer._

_“A lady”, he replies, “a wonderful lady I decided to taint.”_

_A sense of dread starts to form inside of Australia, “What happened to her?”_

_“It was **my** fault, Australia, not hers”, Britain chokes a little, eyes shining with tears, as they stop walking. He was holding Australia’s shoulders now, staggering to meet his height now that he was old and miserable and Australia is not the boy he used to be anymore. He is not afraid of his towering father anymore, since he towers before this miserable man now._

_“What did you do?”, Australia hisses softly, clutching his chest as he can feel his heart hammering to be freed from his grasp. “What did you do to her?”_

_Britain swallows, getting ready to tell a tale that Aussie knows will be full of sorrow and heartache. “She was one of those young ladies down in the streets, believing in the naive concept of true love. I, of course, caught her eye; a strapping young lad strutting through the streets like he owned the place. Truly, she thinks, I am her soulmate.” He meets Australia’s eyes once again, haunted and hollow._

_“But there is a consequence to loving me.”_

_He continues, his heart in these winding speeches, “Yes, we interacted more and more, from small greetings then to conversations, and then we were kissing in the rain like it was nothing and then we were being passionate under the sheets. I had taken advantage of her emotions so easily, that I started to unravel her, no remorse whatsoever. I even planned to marry her! Can you believe that, my boy? I wanted to marry this woman who is unaware of my wrongdoings, who loved me for one layer and that layer only.”_

_“Of course, I ruined her life one day. Netherlands had me good; she had wounded me in several ways, and wounded me in my heart.”_

_“Why? What did Netherlands do to you? She’d always had a vendetta against us. And you.”_

_Britain lets out a shaky breath, looking towards Australia as he did with America: cautious, and all the more critical of her movements. “Because Netherlands was America’s mother.”_

“What the fuck?”, America says in the present time, her eyes wild and now clear with translucent tears. “Netherlands… the woman who tried to kill me over and over again… is my mom?” She laughs a little, thinking it would lighten the situation but instead it causes the atmosphere of the entire room to sour. She wipes away the tears on her face (either she got it from crying a while or from forcing herself to laugh). “This has got to be a joke… is it?” She tentatively looks at New Zealand, but his face still hasn’t changed.

America’s plastered smile cracks and falls, as she now realizes that the person who she had hated from the first years of her life was her mother all along. America sits down quietly, biting her lip, as Canada puts a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

_Britain continues, his tone becoming even more regretful as they enter his room. Nothing much has changed the last time they were in there, but it was as if the ghosts of Past, Present and Future had swept around the place like a cyclone, their claws turning the Old to New, the New to Old, the old memories that had evaporated from every crevice of the mind comes to haunt everything. The entire room was made to look like his father’s old room, but there was now a spam of picture frames everywhere, and portraits and documents that Australia knows belongs to the past. Britain walks towards his bed, taking a picture frame from the top of his drawers and offering it to Australia._

_Australia stares at the photo, vintage and all, of a woman with ginger hair, her freckles spread against her light skin as she smiles into the photo, her hands clasping a small necklace. She was wearing a white, frilly dress, and a sun hat covering most of her head. Her eyes were as green as the grass Australia used to roll on in his youth, her smile rivalling the light of the sun, and her hair as bright as fire. He gingerly touches the photo once again, feeling the glass of the frame, cold and hard, but he wishes for arms to wrap around him, for sweet words to whisper in his ear, for someone to love him._

_In the end, it was just a photo of a woman who might have lived a long time ago, who was once real, but now just a figment of imagination. Just a figment of reality that died out and the only thing left was her presence in records and photos._

_“She looks a lot like me…”, Australia mutters to himself, staring at the photo with eyes shining, “I look a lot like her…”_

_“However, her love for me seemed to fade away, over the years.” Britain’s eyes were on the photo of the woman, brilliant and bright, as if not believing that this joyful woman was one of his loves. “Someone had tried to kill her- I saved her but she was not the same ever since, paranoid and never leaving my side. I have had enough of her fear of the unknown; leaving her in our home unattended to come to work, pulling a gun towards her when she comes close, and incessantly never giving her the attention she needed, in hoping she can ‘cope’ herself. Alas, those were horrible ideas, and she spiralled further into insanity.”_

_“I threatened to leave her if she doesn’t get her act together, and she pleaded with me to stay, no matter how many awful women I’ve slept with, no matter how many times I insulted her and no matter how much I loathed the idea of being with her. So I gave her one condition: she needs to pay me fees for protection, or I’ll put her head on a pike.”_

_Australia’s eyes dilate for a moment, shaking his head as his hands shake when he stares back at the woman in the photo, years before someone broke her. Years before Britain broke her and crushed her life and sanity to pieces. She is not real anymore; but perhaps her memory is real. He can feel something within him, a pool of lava waiting to burst, but he waits for the right time, letting Britain drone on with the atrocities he’d done to his mother._

_“So she works hard, day and night, to keep me by her side, desperately trying to keep me by her side, forever and ever. I took pleasure in seeing her be tortured to death. So I decided to toy with her even more, making her my slave now and for the rest of her life, as she comes in and out of my room, looking utterly more miserable and empty and haunted every time she closes the door. And then one day she comes to me with panicked eyes, handling her stomach, and she confesses to me that she is pregnant and asks me what she should do. I slapped her hard on the face, shouting at her that it was her own fault she had gotten pregnant. So I made her keep the baby; I made her keep **you**.”_

_Now the only thing Australia wants to unleash on Britain was the bile working its way up its throat, no way back, but he gulps it down, feeling acid burn his throat and chest. He keeps quiet, eyes still on the picture of his mother._

_“She loved me too much”, Britain shakes his head with a small sigh, putting an arm on Australia’s shoulder but his son slaps it away. If Britain was going to comment, he had nothing to say. “So she had you in a night full of stars, almost covering the entire dark sky. Her screams had delighted me back then… sweet and beautiful and all the more melodious. And then you were born, with your ginger curls and skin dotted with freckles like your mother once had, and I knew I would love you.” Britain smiles a little at the ‘happy’ memory, but there was nothing happy about that. Then just like fire burning all too quickly, his smile fades. “Then the day after you were born, your mother killed herself. It seems that she did not want you.”_

_A teardrop lands on Australia’s mother’s face, as he himself can feel the overwhelming and overbearing sadness his own mother had felt through the remainder of her years. The lava that was over pouring has been replaced by a dark and stormy cloud enveloping his body. Australia shakes, his eyes shining more with tears and he tries not to blink so he could not release such overwhelming emotion. There were too many spurs of emotion inside him, different types of fire kindling and lighting up to try and out flame the other. His vision blurs, and maybe it was not from the tears but from the fact his reality has now shattered into the darkest of places._

_Britain’s eyes shine with tears as well, staring ahead, brimming with shame and the wish to repent what he had done. “Maybe that is why I had hit you and insulted you from the very first years of your life… because you looked too much like her and my guilt cannot bear it.”_

_A memory clicks inside of Australia; when he had asked his father who his mother was, all giddy and excited since he wanted to tell his classmates of his mother. Instead of giving his son a clear answer, he got a grumble and a slap on the cheek, and he stumbled backwards with his stubby little legs. He had covered the mark where he had been slapped, tears of pain tumbling down his cheeks as he started to cry about how much it hurt. Britain had not shown him pity or compassion, however; he had bellowed at him to shut his trap or he will kick him out of the house for the day. The young boy whimpers as he walks to his room, ignoring his worried siblings._

_Australia once again looks at his mother, and he chuckles sadly, clutching it closer to his chest, closing his eyes and imagining that it was his mother who was hugging him, not a wooden frame._

_At least he had answers from his mother now._

_She never loved him._

_If she had lived, she would have treated him the same as how Britain had treated him._

_She never cared about him._

_If he didn’t exist, she would still be alive._

_But at what cost?_

_Tears start to slide down the man’s cheeks, still clutching the frame tightly as he dances with it, remembering the times he’d dance to the beat, thinking everything he is holding is a mother who supports him, but in reality she had died because he merely existed. The tears stain his shirt, but more and more come to replace his damned sadness, overflowing and trying to keep the volcano from erupting. He was smiling stupidly, chuckling a little- the Past is Present and Present is Past._

_He should’ve **died** inside of her stomach; he should’ve been murdered by his own mother; he should’ve been aborted because that’s what he was: a **mistake** ; he should’ve killed himself when he was faced with the noose he tied, the pills he had bought, the gun touching the side of his head._

_But why didn’t he do it?_

_Because there was hope inside him: that somewhere, he will find his mother, who did not want him to die a gruesome death._

_So he kept living for her._

_But she ended up dead._

_And she never loved her._

_So what was the point of existing?_

_Australia starts to sob, heart-wrenching and nerve racking sobs, crawling to a fetal position, his head on his legs as he screams for his mother, as he sobs at the fact he shouldn’t have existed and that she didn’t deserve her fate._

_Britain’s voice did not help him, “My dear son, I vehemently apologize-”_

_The sorrowful river that keeps overflowing is now replaced by a volcano erupting, as Australia bares his teeth and stands up, glaring at Britain, fists clenched around the picture frame and he screams as he hits his father on the head with the frame with all his might, shattering the glass surrounding the photo. Britain made a pained noise, but Australia was not done yet as he kicks Britain’s chest, and he doubles over in pain. Australia glares at the cowardly man in front of him, as he hits him, again and again; he feels nothing but pain, nothing but the pain of his and his mother combined, as he kicks, punches, and hits Britain, until he is a bloodied mess on the floor. Britain chokes out blood, gasping for air, but Australia did not give him more time to breathe as he kicks this miserable man, again and again._

_“Australia! **Pour l'amour de Dieu, arrêtez!** ”, he hears someone shout, but he was now in a vengeful haze, continuing to kick his father (he would not even call him his father) harder and repeatedly._

_He then feels strong arms wrap around him, pulling him away from Britain who was barely conscious, and he screams in rage, kicking the man behind him, but his knees did not buckle nor did he seem affected by this pathetic man’s attempts to let him go._

_“ **LET ME GO! I’M NOT DONE WITH HIM!”** , Australia screams, squirming under the man’s grip._

_“I understand why you’re angry at Britain, **filho** ”, comes Portugal’s unhindered and soft voice, still gripping Australia tightly, “but please, don’t beat **o** **bastardo** to death.”_

_“HE DESERVES DEATH! HE DESERVES TO **D I E**!” Australia replies, and he breaks free from Portugal’s grasp and runs back towards Britain’s mangled body, eyes brimming with tears, as he tries to hit Britain’s face._

_He does not hear skin colliding with bone, but a pained gasp and cry. Australia’s blood runs cold, as he opens his eyes to find Villers massaging her cheek, a look of pain evident on her face as she looks at Australia with a poisonous look._

_Immediately, all of Australia’s anger vanishes, as his arms go slack._

_The entire room was cold, as the two lovers had a standoff._

_“Australia, **tu sais que je t’aime”** , Villers says softly, calmly, steadily, “ **Mais tu dois de calmer.”**_

_Australia frantically shakes his head, tears sliding down his cheeks once again. “ **Non ... crois-moi ... je suis vraiment désolé.** ”_

_Villers kisses his forehead, giving him a sense of calm, “ **C’est d’accord, je t’aime encore.”**_

_Australia lets himself be embraced by the shorter woman, the one who had given him the chance to live, the chance to have love. He was crying, ever so silently, holding Villers’ body, as she sings him a lullaby to help him calm down, to help him remember the times that the sun was their friend and not the enemy that burns them alive. And he wonders what would happen to Villers if he didn’t exist._

_He puts his lips on her ear, still streaming down tears, “I wish I didn’t exist.”_

_Villers whispers back, “If you didn’t exist, I wouldn’t have either.”_

Australia was staring into space, but he imagines that the vacant space in front of him was his mother, that there were no walls or floors and the both of them were floating in space, with the galaxies looking down on everything and everyone, especially the both of them. His imaginary mother was staring at him, no words to speak but his inevitable doom. If Australia had just killed himself right then and there, he would’ve asked his mother all the questions in his head.

But he was staying alive, once again.

Not for his mother, the one who didn’t want him in the first place.

But for Villers, and his siblings, who were sitting behind those doors, so to speak.

Australia inhales, exhausted at the fact he was sitting here and doing nothing.

But doing nothing was fine.

“Aussie?”, a voice penetrates through the silent air he had created for himself, and with a hum, he raises his eyes at the figures in front of the door, led by his older sister, who was looking as if she had gone through the five stages of grief with him.

Three pairs of arms wrap around his body, which made him feel warm, like Villers’, but their arms were supporting, filial, familial. He closes his eyes as he cozes into their embrace, thinking to himself how lucky he must be to have them.

“We’re grateful you exist”, Canada says in an ‘older brother’ type of voice, and the others nod.

“Don’t beat yourself up ‘cause our asshole dad told you how you were born”, America replies, “I think all of us here didn’t even want to exist.”

“But here we are”, Kiwi continues, smiling at his older brother then at his siblings, who look peaceful at the fact that they were all mistakes, wrong doings their father had committed against the women in his life. “And we’re here to stay.”

Australia smiles at them, a light feeling in his chest that made him soar higher and higher across the skies, until he is ready to burst and pop to be with the others around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this thing's 12k and i haven't got the patience to give you a fancy translation >:(


	7. Romance Stuff Yay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name Guide:
> 
> Koku Nippon- Japan
> 
> Teikoku Nippon- Japan Empire
> 
> Nabi- KE’s wife, belongs to @redffeather
> 
> Daehan Jeguk- Korean Empire
> 
> Daehan Imsi- Korean Provisional Government
> 
> Daehan Minguk- South Korea
> 
> Choson Inmin- North Korea

She and Koku were once again in his lair in the gardens; America was staring at the greenery once again, her eyes doing somersaults as she finds herself staring at the wonderful and colourful butterflies that had escaped through the door. Koku, meanwhile, was busily answering a worksheet Teikoku forced him to answer. For the past twenty minutes, his grey eyes were pinned to the worksheet in front of him, muttering a few hypothetical words and solving a little before answering. **  
**

America would crane her neck to peek at what Koku was answering, before furrowing her brow at how complicated the questions are to the point even her brain cannot answer the items immediately, so she let him be.

They were both quiet, not one of them talking to one another, which was fine; they’d just be as serene and as quiet as the butterflies around the gardens.

Japan sighs as he flips his paper once again, his eyes back to the words written on the worksheet, biting his thumb, but his grey eyes would escape to America, time and time again. He thinks he was being discreet, but America can clearly see the way he looks at her: like he had just found a person who’d keep him and his secrets company until he has to be taken by death itself and his old dreams and secrets are relinquished to be with the stars.

America merely scoffs; she was not his ‘company’, and she will only be with him for a short matter of time until she must go.

But America’s mind wasn’t on him.

It was on her mother- Netherlands.

A long time ago, America had given up on asking her father who her mother was; only for this curiosity and fear to come crashing to her in the future, like she was being swept by the current of a river towards a rumbling waterfall, its liquid gushing and churning and wishing she collides with the rocks as she desperately tries to swim back but the currents were like a person; pushing her closer and closer to the edge until her scream was drowned out by the waters.

America felt sick to her stomach as her memories pushes her back to her encounters with Netherlands… the time when the woman had kidnapped her when she was a child… when she had slipped drugs into her drink… when the woman threatened to hunt her down like a dog… when Netherlands tied a noose around America’s neck with a smile…

She chokes, like the noose was still on her neck and it tightens on her windpipe. She clutches at her throat, subconsciously trying to take the damned rope off before Netherlands kicked the chair from underneath her feet and her body dangling.

“Amerika!”, someone from the other side of her nightmares calls out to her, but all she can feel was the rope around her neck, trying to suffocate her entire being, as if it was real, and that nothing else was true except the rope burning around her neck.

Then she feels hands on her shoulders, shaking her slightly but all she can comprehend is the shaking and quaking of the chair, Netherlands clearly teasing her with her hazy grey eyes and lips curling into a smile.

The hands were wrapping into her now, but the hazy voice she supposed was Netherland’s was replaced by a newer, much more worried voice, calling out to her again and again, as the arms around her tighten and now she feels skin against her uniform and not the noose around her neck, as if her reality that had been distorted is now reconnecting to the same reality once again.

“Amerika!”, like she had emerged from the depths of the water, the voice near her ear becoming clear as the waters in the pools.

She turns her head, seeing Koku’s worried face, striking grey eyes staring back at her, his brows furrowed as his hair makes contact with the nape of her neck.

Koku continues, “Are you alright? You were choking for a minute there.”

America blinks, not having the tongue to answer him, then looking down at the arms around her waist.

She then realises in what position they were in.

Face turning red, she forcibly breaks from Koku’s grip, with the other still staring back at her worriedly.

She regains her composure, glaring back at Koku with her ‘professional’ look. “Go back to solving your math problems. I’ll be here, guarding you.”

Koku scoffs, sitting back down and picking up his pen, then he turns his eyes back to the worksheets.

Meanwhile, America misses Koku’s arms around her, wanting that warmth once again, a flame saying to the winds to find something missing; dying colder and colder as Koku’s glances towards her strain as he focuses more on his work at hand and not at her.

“Sorry about scaring you there”, America sighs exhaustively, still facing the other way from Japan, “something in my personal life happened.”

She hears the placing of a pen back on the table, and grey eyes staring at her back. “Well, I’m sorry for also scaring you. And it’s fine, I forgive you.”

America turns back to stare at Koku, whose grey eyes were boring at her with such intensity and magnitude to the point she was afraid he’d set her on fire with his own mind. But there was something else in there now; curiosity to why she had overreacted, questions in his eyes like fragile glass waiting to be shattered. Crystals waiting to be dug up by miners and those who seek their treasures. Both of their eyes were full of stars, both of them unaware they were each other’s galaxy.

Koku clears his throat, blinking a little like he was out of tune, before turning back to his worksheet, leaving America staring at him answering the items like it was nothing, fast as lightning but not at all.

(She admits that she misses the way he looks at her, like he had all the time in the world.)

-

“You’re thinking of something again.” Koku states, lifting a hand up to inspect if there would be any chance of a downpour, as the clouds conquer and divide the light that the sun has given the world to entirely different entities, thunder sounding from the sky like it was preparing themselves for war. America keeps her eyes focused on the ground, cosying herself into her coat when a gust of cold wind blows her way.

(They were walking towards the Deutsche Towers, since Teikoku had told Koku to meet and greet Ost once again, but Koku demanded America come with him, much to Teikoku’s irritation.)

“And I should tell you my thoughts _why_?”, America asks Koku acidly, whose eyes were still focused on the dark grey clouds, marching to bring and harbour rain towards their city and dampening their entire city from ground up. “These are my thoughts, Japan. Not yours.”

Koku sighs, looking at America with an unamused expression, “Meri, I was just stating the obvious. No need to get over defensive about it.”

America was taken aback- not from what he said, but the _nickname_. The way Koku had said it, like it was nothing, the way the syllables roll on his tongue like he was the ocean’s waves crashing onto the sandy shoals with such impact it leaves the beach weak and vulnerable for days. The way he gave her a nickname sounded natural, like it was nothing more than a simple drop of rain in a dry desert waiting for a life-saving gift to come to them, an oasis, a paradise.

Something simple in one’s tongue is complex in another’s mind, and she just stares at Koku, mouth gaping like she had something to say.

Then a drop of rain falls down towards the sidewalk.

“It really _is_ gonna rain”, Koku mutters as he takes out his umbrella from his pocket, once the rain drops start multiplying like viruses climbing and growing in infected numbers. America buries herself in her coat even more, preparing for the downpour (especially since her dim-witted ass forgot to bring an umbrella).

She then feels an arm wrap around her shoulder, and without a thought she is pulled into Koku’s umbrella, Koku holding the handle, looking everywhere except the girl underneath his arms.

“I didn’t know the downpour would be _this_ bad”, Koku huffs a little, carefully strolling through the damp sidewalks, puddles dampening the insides of his shoe, and he tries to kick his shoe to release the liquid inside it.

Meanwhile, America was still linking arms with Japan, face hidden underneath Koku’s scarf (he’d insisted she was cold and let her wear it), staring at the rain pouring over them as she and Japan were being shielded by his umbrella.

“Are we there yet?”, America complains, mindlessly kicking on a puddle, which flies to Koku’s direction, making his pants wetter and colder than they were before. He glares at her and she smiles apologetically.

“No”, Koku replies, “just a block away. We haven’t encountered any butterflies yet.”

America blinks, confused to why they’d need to see butterflies in this sordid and desolate weather; they’re most likely in their own place, in their paradise somewhere in some gardens, frolicking and being their own thing and person, since that is what they are, dainty looking creatures that will seek shelter in the darkest of weathers.

So they keep walking, shoes sloshing on puddles and rain pouring down.

Then out of the corner of her eye, she spots a butterfly with emerald green wings; the patterns on its wing looking like an eye.

She raises a brow at it, but the insect didn’t look the slightest bit hindered at the fact that it is raining and it is cold. It was just there, staring at them with its wings-looking eye. She turns to Koku, who was staring at it with a face of knowing.

“We’re close”, he states, as he picks up his pace, following the green-winged butterfly. America, not being one to get caught in the rain, picks up her pace to match with Koku.

America was no stranger to the Deutsche Towers; its long and winding spiral staircases embedded in diamonds and spires… its transparent glass windows that dim once the sunlight becomes too much… the fountain in the middle of the hallway, which was also the centre of all surveillance… the grey rooms looked as if it was more of a mental ward than people actually living in the Towers… and of course, the basement, where America had only been in once and that was when Weimar’s father Deutsches Reich surrendered.

America frowns at her new surroundings- it had just been a month since Deutsches Reich had announced his bankruptcy for all to see and laugh, but he is nowhere to be found.

Then she remembered what Australia and New Zealand said.

Deutsches Reich is dead.

Weimar hadn’t even notified the police forces of such a murder, let alone looked like he cared about him.

She narrows her eyes at the looming Deutsche Towers above her, its glass windows watching her with caution and mockery.

If the man in Australia and New Zealand’s story _is_ Weimar.

Koku skids to a stop in front of the entrance to America’s supposed nightmare. She could see what was on the inside; two guards in complete uniform reaching for the doors, opening them.

A rush of air flies out of the Tower’s entrance and into the couple’s faces, and combined with the cold rainwater dripping from their clothes, America shakes from the cold, as if the frozen winter tries to hurl a blizzard right in her warmth, but she dodges it to an extent, but the marks of cold are still there.

On the base of the stairs, it seems that someone was already waiting for them. The green butterfly that Koku had followed earlier flutters towards a man with a white trench coat, sown with butterflies, light locks brushed aside, his emerald green eyes glinting like emeralds under the ground, his lips curled into a small smile, as the butterflies around him flutter and play around him like he was in a paradise where everything was fine.

Or he was in the cemetery playing with people’s dead souls, as his laughs grow wilder and wilder and he claims to have seen death itself.

“ _Guten_ _Abend_ , Japan”, Weimar greets in a slow, pleasant voice, his tone fake but civil, as if he was playing his part as Koku’s ‘father-in-law’ (America blanches at the thought; the thought that Koku is going to marry a _fifteen year-old_ ) but he will crush him after he becomes triumphant in his own plan. His eyes turn to America, and his pleasant grin becomes slightly cracked, eyes twitching as his emerald green eyes burn with hate.

America takes a deep breath- of course this man knows her name, of course she recognises her face, of course she doesn’t stand a chance against the truth and lies she committed. She was being cornered to a wall, as Weimar had always known her since the beginning of time, since she has intervened in all this mafia mob nonsense with a gun on her hand, poised to kill any of those who needed to be killed.

She could see it in his eyes; flaring like sparks as the emeralds grow out of control, not controlling their own fiery heart’s desire as they try to become the trees surrounding the mountain side.

Koku, unaware of the tension but knowing that Weimar’s eyes are pinned on America, looks back at the man before them. “This is my bodyguard: America.”

Weimar’s smile returns to its normal and less unsettling grin, turning back to Koku, his hands on his back, his body cool and composed. “Now then; shall we have some tea? I’ll get my children of course.”

Koku smiles a little, but it was fake and empty, his grey eyes wary of Weimar, and it has the slightest tinge of fear. “That would be lovely, _gifu_.”

Weimar’s eyes lit up, but there was still a blazing wildfire in his flaring eyes. “Good! Now then, let us go to the gardens, shall we?”

“It’s raining outside”, America deadpans, pointing at the open windows, the sound of raindrops over head.

Instead of Koku agreeing however, he goes mum, as he looks at both Weimar with wide and scared eyes, then back at America with an apprehensive expression, like she had just disrespected a king in his own castle. Weimar’s eye twitches, his neck tilting to an odd angle, making America feel something new around this brand new ‘Weimar’.

 _Fear_.

“I know it is raining outside, you little _minx_ ”, he spits out, words of fire mixing in with an eerie calm around him. “We are going to go to the indoor gardens. Say if you were a cop, searching for a criminal in the most obvious spots, where would you find the bastard, then? Would you go looking around for circles even though he is right in front of you, waiting for you to catch him?”

America goes bright pink, and Weimar seems to feel her embarrassment, as he smiles triumphantly.

Silence fills the entire hallway, only the sound of the downpour being heard.

Then Koku’s voice breaks through it like a sonic boom. He turns to Weimar, glaring at him. “Do not talk to her like that. She made a mistake, that’s all.”

Weimar stares at Koku for a while, his grin ear-splitting and becoming uncomfortable and unbearable to look at before blinking, but Koku stays strong, even if his grey eyes show his greatest nightmares.

Weimar clicks his tongue, “Shall we go to the gardens _now_?”

Koku immediately follows Weimar, who was strutting so confidently and so surely, and America lags behind them.

“ _Hallo_ , Japan!”, a young girl holding a school notebook greets Koku while he was observing the rosebushes (who also immediately backs up in shock once a butterfly takes a special seat there, much to America’s confusion).

America turns towards the twins- both sporting big and naive smiles, able to light up the entire world with just them. She notices how only their eyes differ: Ost has her father’s emerald eyes, except kinder and much more free-spirited, while West has dark blue eyes. America furrows her brow as she sees parts of ginger in West’s hair, but none in Ost’s, who sports freckles instead.

West was reading a trivia book about History and how it was told, before accidentally bumping into America. She wasn’t that hindered though; West is as thin as a stick America had picked up from one of her community service efforts. West looks up at America with big, apologetic eyes.

“ _Es tut mir leid_ , Miss”, West says, awkwardly looking down to his shoes.

America shakes her head, smiling, “It’s fine, it’s just an accident.”

Her eyes pivot to Koku and Ost, in an awkward conversation, beads of sweat rolling down their faces despite the cold weather, as if they were being watched. As if someone is monitoring the couple’s moves and is simply waiting for them to say the wrong thing before they are fed to the wolves. Ost was holding her phone a little too tightly, looking the opposite direction from Koku but occasionally glancing at her phone’s screen for messages. Meanwhile, Koku was studying a peony bush, trying to carry on their dead conversation with his own hands, but he glances at America.

No, not at her.

He glances at West, who was giving the couple - mostly Koku though - a dirty glare, before fixing himself back at his book.

America could understand why West seemingly doesn’t like or is not fond of Koku; Ost is fifteen and she is going to marry a complete stranger who not only is older than her by almost a decade, he also doesn’t seem to be too stoked to this marriage idea. And that Koku’s brother is literally one of the most cruel mafia mob bosses everyone has ever seen, so that must mean there was a brutal killing streak inside of Koku as well.

Koku and Ost’s conversation goes dim, as if they have nothing in common and they do not wish to make an effort to communicate with each other, beau or not. They glance the other way, with Ost texting someone on her phone, and Koku staring right at America, who was only tuning out every single thing, distorting reality and replacing it with empty static in her head to entertain herself. She can hear West’s muttering of Egypt and its pyramid, but there is a blockade in her brain.

She feels someone’s hand on her arm, and she looks up to find Koku staring at her with a small smile on his face. “You wanna see those _shiroi bara_ in the back of the gardens?”

America blinks up at his smile, already putting the sun to shame, and she grins. “Alright.” 

“I have no idea why we’re doing this”, America says in an exhausted expression, as she feels Koku’s - comforting - fingers threading through her smooth and soft hair, humming to himself.

America _has_ to confess to herself; the fingers around her hair making her relax, as tendrils of exhaustion are being snipped short as he softly runs through her hair in a delicate manner, an animal being calmed down like it was nothing. Her guilty pleasure was letting someone run through her hair so softly and slowly, like they had time in the entire world, a hand planting seeds deep into the ground, so that after a few days it can emerge into something far more great and glorious.

She sighs softly, relieving herself of pent up stress, leaning onto Koku’s chest for support, slowly letting him have control of her blonde locks, his fingers starting to do their work. She smells the absolute fragrance of the entire garden, flowers’ scents mixing and mingling with each other, as if they were talking, as if they were live and sentient beings that can talk about their feeling without the humans noticing them. They were hypnotizing her just by their scent alone, driving her to the wall, all letting her smell them without having the punishment of pollen allergies and coughing and hacking.

“Aren’t you supposed to be ‘ _courting_ ’ Ost?”, America asks, still in bliss, jolting slightly as Koku accidentally touches a sensitive spot on her neck. “Why are you here- with me?”

Koku rolls his eyes, as if he had answered this question a fair amount of times. “Me and Ost aren’t exactly… ‘couple’ material.”

America snorts, “It’s obvious.

Koku continues, “And I like your company. A lot.”

The girl below him goes red. “Uh… thanks.”

Koku smiles a little, a small idea in his head, before he completely dismisses it in fear of rejection and awkwardness. “ _Watashi wa honkidesu_.”

America feels light objects on her head, not weighing her down, but the fragrance they were emitting is. She inhales, smelling the blooming flowers that were seated on top of her head like a crown. Like she was a queen and she was on a throne.

“Alright, finished!”, Koku says from above America enthusiastically, and he offers her a hand mirror to gaze on her reflection.

Koku was a good hairstylist, as it turns out; the braid was so neatly done and clean, no stray hair strands, the crown perfectly in place. She smiles into her reflection as she leans into Koku more, admiring and loving his warmth like he was the sun beating down on the crops and helping them grow. She feels arms wrap around her, and she feels the summer breeze and spring air billowing in her hair. America smiles serenely, like nothing is wrong and that she has a perfect life right here and right now.

Then her mind comes back to her mother and that noose on her hand, her lips curved into a malicious smile.

She stiffens at the memory and jumps out of Koku’s arms, much to the latter’s shock. Grey eyes stab at her with worry, but all she can feel once again are the hands that had tried to come for her all those years ago, leading to here now. She was breathing harshly, trying to remember that this is the reality, and Netherlands holding the noose was a long time ago, a blurb in her fading memories, but her mind is sentient and refuses to listen.

“America?”, Koku bounds towards her, but America takes a step back, still seemingly shaken from the memory, especially trying to differentiate Koku’s grey eyes with Netherlands’. “Is everything all right?”

America stares at Koku with scared and vulnerable eyes, fearing luring in the apex predator that will rip her to shreds, but she catches the twins watching them from a far as well. She can feel embarrassment creeping on her back like it was nothing. Her frustration was wrapping into her like a crown of thorns, tearing her limbs apart like she was a delicate flower with beautiful petals. So, as a normal and human adult frustrated with everything, she turns her frustration to someone else.

“I’m not a _friend_ , Koku”, she hisses coolly, glaring right up at his grey eyes, trying to muster the coldest expression she ever has, a tundra in the side of the mountains, “I’m your _bodyguard_ , simple as that. I’m not supposed to act buddy-buddy with you, I’m supposed to _protect_ you from harm’s way; I’m not able to do that if you keep playing dress-up with me.”

Koku opens his mouth to respond, but he closes them instead, eyes glaring at America, the calm before the storm. He stands from his place, pulling on his coat, before turning his back on America.

“Fine then”, he says, marching towards the garden’s exit, refusing to face his bodyguard, who was still glaring daggers at him, but there was regret in her eyes, feeling horrible that she pushed someone out of her life just like that. “I’m leaving, I’ve had enough. _Sayonara_ , West and Ost.”

“Hold on!”, America says, covering herself from the rain using her coat and the scarf Japan gave her earlier, the rain and mist covering her vision, warping it into something else, but Koku’s back is still visible despite the foggy rain trying to blind her, umbrella in hand, dark hair billowing against the gusts of wind. He did not break a step, his shoes landing on puddle after puddle, now indifferent at the fact he is making himself wet.

America, meanwhile, was holding the coat over her head, trying to stop the rain from coming down on her, which was futile, and that most of her clothes are wet and damp by now. She almost slips on the rain-covered sidewalk, before stabilising herself with one of the lamp posts. America stares at Koku’s back, who stops just a short distance away, but he still doesn’t face her.

Perhaps it was time for her to swallow her pride… again.

“Look”, she starts, her voice being drowned out by the rain, continuously pouring down on the both of them, “I’m sorry about my outburst earlier. I just feel like shit this past few days, especially yesterday when my brothers told me something. And, uh, I now feel self-conscious that I’m not being a good bodyguard for you.” She lowers her head; what was now a fake apology now feeling real, as if she was virtual, as if they live in a world where everything is fine and alright and nothing happened. She had actually regretted snapping at Koku, regretted everything she did to him today because, in reality, he’s been treating her nicely. Like she was a friend of his. Like he had all the time in the world for her.

She feels an arm on her shoulder, and her eyes look up to find Koku staring at her with a sheepish look on his face, as if he was the one in the wrong and not her. The rain was noticeably not dripping down on her, and she looks up to find Koku’s umbrella covering the both of them (although Koku had to inch closer to save himself from the rain).

He smiles at her guiltily, “I’m sorry too, for leaving you in the rain like this.”

America laughs pleasantly, “I kinda deserve it, though.”

Another cold breeze targets America, and she shivers; her clothes were now damp from the rain, and Koku sighs sheepishly before taking off America’s coat from her shoulders and giving her his drier and larger one.

“Uh”, America raises a questioning brow at Koku, who was now putting on her coat, “what are you doing?”

“Put mine on”, he says with a small smile, “and we’ll go home.

America complies, putting on Koku’s coat; the sleeves were loose on her arms. “This barely fits me”, she deadpans, but there was a small grin on her face.

“To protect yourself more from the rain”, Koku snorts as they both turn back to their destination, the rain not bothering them anymore as America leans into Koku once again.

-

“So you’re also basically a tutor?”, America asks, as Koku closes his umbrella, and puts it on the door frame, knocking on the door softly but surely. “I thought the Nippon family are rich.”

Koku chuckles, the sun’s rays dripping down on everything it touches, the flowers facing towards it, “I’m not doing this for money; I’m doing this to help others.”

America raises a brow, smirking all the while as they wait for someone to tell them to come in or for someone to open the door.

“Who are you tutoring this desolate and rainy afternoon?”, America asks, impatiently tapping her foot, soaked by the rain and dreaming about the warm, running water on her body, caressing her gently, letting her through a land where warmth ruled over the cold climates, where she was in the seas’ shores herself.

Once America asks Koku the question, his smile immediately falters, his grey eyes lacing with irritation as he sighs exhaustedly; whoever he was tutoring must be quite a handful if even one of the most patient and relaxed people would sigh before entering their humble abode.

“Coming!”, an all too familiar voice rings from the inside, as feet thud from the stairs and the door knob twisting and turning.

America then comes face-to-face with Daehan Imsi, whose warm smile immediately falters at the sight of Koku, as if he was the death of all the flowers and seeds in his garden, the annoying little weed to all plants, the parasite thriving in his body. His dark blue eyes turn an icy cold, calculating the dark-haired boy in front of him with such intensity, to the point that even Koku’s forehead was forming beads of sweat. Then he turns to face America with a raised brow, and America puts a finger to her lips, to which Imsi understood, and turns back to Koku with an unreadable look.

“ _Konnichiwa_ , Imsi-wa”, Koku says, bowing as he says it. “I believe it’s time for Minguk’s lesson?”

If Koku was aware of Imsi’s apparent distaste for him, he was not showing it; Imsi did not say anything for a full minute, lips curling as he looks everywhere but Koku, before forcing a smile on his face, once he glances at America again. “Yes, it’s time for Minguk’s lesson… _unsu nappeuge_.”

Imsi leads Koku inside his home first, and once America follows him inside, Imsi stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

“What are you doing with him?”, Imsi asks in a hushed tone, his eyes pinned on Koku, who takes off - America’s - his coat and puts it on the coat rack neatly. “Do you and your brothers have a plan to stop Teikoku?”

America bites her lower lip, whether telling Imsi would be a good call or not.

“Look, can we talk in a much…”, she glances at Koku who was busily studying the table for any crumbs of food before he dumps the pens and pencils he keeps on his pockets, “ _safer_ setting?”

Imsi stares at America for a moment, before nodding.

“Why, if it isn’t my favourite _babo_!”, Minguk exclaims cheerily, making his way to the living room with a few books and pencils for what seems like Calculus. He sits on one of the chairs eagerly, but there was an intense hatred in his eyes at the boy right in front of him, his smile hiding malice and torrents of loathing towards him. “So, what’re you going to teach me today?”

There clearly _was_ an unadulterated loathing for Koku.

“We’re going to answer a few exercises first”, Koku says calmly and professionally, as if he was more of a teacher and not a home schooled boy being puppeteered around by his father.

Then, a woman whom America had _never_ seen before (but although looks vaguely familiar) exits from one of the rooms carrying a couple of books and a tray of tea walks to the dining room, “Thank you for the company Imsi; your company comforts me every time-” She freezes suddenly, her eyes now locked on Koku, her hands shaking as she drops everything she’s holding down to the floor. The rigid silence is only broken by the sound of shattering tea cups, screaming a tune of horror as they plummet down to their deaths in the cold hard floor, spilling tea everywhere, but it doesn’t seem like the woman is concerned by its boiling properties, her eyes still pinned on Koku with a hint of panic, fear, and horror mixing in her eyes. Her body starts to shake, eyes brimming with tears.

“T-Teikoku?”, she stammers, shaking a little, her breathing becoming ragged and desperate, like she had no air left in her. “Please don’t… make me come back…” She was choking now, sobbing and giving out a few gasps for air, clearly having a panic attack.

Koku looks confused, clearly concerned at the woman who is now trying to breathe hard, as if his mere presence is taking away her oxygen. “You must be mistaken; I’m Koku. My brother’s Teikoku.”

The woman gives out another choked gasp as she runs back to her room, locking it.

No one even dared break the tense silence, Imsi and Minguk’s eyes pinned on Koku, who was staring at the room that was locked, concerned, worried and confused at why her reaction to seeing him was like that. Imsi and Minguk glare at Koku with a burning intensity, lips curling in utter abhorring for someone. The flames in their eyes rival Japan’s morning glow, as he stands awkwardly, still waiting for the proper time to excuse himself from them both.

“... Sit down, _Ilbon_ ”, Imsi says with a tone of detesting, and he turns to look at America, “ _Ije_ , _gaja_.”

America touches Koku’s shoulder, giving him a comforting look, saying, “It’s alright, it’s not your fault”, before following Imsi to the woman’s room.

“Who is she?”, America whisper-asks at Imsi, who was still glaring daggers at Koku, who in turn was biting his lip, gazing down at the floors.

“Her name’s Shanghai”, Imsi replies, focusing on the closed door, “I found her roaming the streets all scared and afraid two days ago.”

“Have you ever asked her where she lived before coming here?”, America asks, skeptic of the newcomer. “Have you ever thought of consolidating with us? The police department before you let her stay with you?”

Imsi gives her a testing glare, “Shanghai doesn’t seem to like the police.”

“But _still_ ”, America retorts, glaring back at the man in front of her, “you should’ve talked to us about her first.”

They hear sniffling from inside the room, and Imsi’s glare turns more to a worried look, as he softly raps on the door. “Shanghai? _Gwaenchanh euseyo_? _Mwoga munje ya_?”

There was no reply from the other side of the door, just incoherent whispers and whimpers at the other side of the door.

Imsi knocks on the door once again, still quite concerned for the woman who was whimpering softly, “Please talk to me, Shanghai. You seemed to have a history with Teikoku.”

They hear the door clicking, and Shanghai peeks her head from the slightly ajar door, her terrified eyes staring at Koku, who was now teaching Minguk.

(The both of them did not look in the mood though, with Koku droning on and on about more quadratic and algebraic functions while Minguk was glaring at his tutor, wanting to put a bullet on his head.)

“He’s going to drag me away”, Shanghai murmurs shakily, her face stained with tears, her lip quivering as she looks back at Koku. “H-he’s going to put me back-”

“No he won’t”, America interjects, her gaze hardening, intent to play the hero once again. “I won’t let him take you away.”

Shanghai stares at America, her eyes shaking, before going back to staring at Imsi, petrified.

“Can we come inside though?”, Imsi asks softly, looking into Shanghai’s eyes.

Shanghai widens the entrance of her door, and America and Imsi walk in.

-

All Koku has to say about this situation is that it was the most awkward meeting he has had with the Korean family; even much awkward than him meeting Minguk and Imsi which was, as he put it, a disaster.

(He is clearly aware of their distasteful looks - and attitude - they radiate towards him, but he does not call him out on their behavior.)

But when that woman came in, she had looked into Koku’s eyes, it wasn’t hatred or anger that overtook her; it was pure _fear_ , as if he had done many faults to her family but she is the one to have paid the price, from her hollow and haunted eyes and the way she seemed to recognize him more as his brother than _himself_ \- as always, most of the time.

Sometimes it exhausts Koku; the fact that most recognize him as ‘Teikoku’s brother’ and not his own self gives him issues if he would be following in his brother’s footsteps- his ruinous and destructive footsteps to the future. Sometimes Koku’s mind will plague and hypothesize if he will become just like his brother in the near future, evil clutching beneath his palms, forfeiting lives like it was nothing, revelling in people’s pain like it was nothing.

Koku bites his lip, remembering how his mother had looked at him in her final moments.

He tries to make sure he doesn’t look and act like Teikoku.

Which is futile, as his physical appearance reminds everyone more of Teikoku than his actual self, and he is getting sick of this whole thing.

So what if his brother had done a lifetime worth of crimes?

He feels everyone’s eyes on him, always, calculating and cold, as icy as the most isolated tundras in the Poles, calculating, as if one wrong move they were going to feed him to the wolves and watch his corpse then be fed to the butterflies, crunching on his bones, forever and ever. They had rights to hate him, of course; they just think they were being discreet with the way their eyes flare up with loathing once he enters one room, discreet with the way they were lowkey trying to insult him and his family, perhaps taking jabs at how his mother is dead.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling himself suffocate despite the glaring contest being over; Japan doesn’t want anything to do with Teikoku, if he has to be honest.

He sighs, energy drained from his meeting with Weimar and the teenager next to him, who can’t even conclude the difference between each solution unless Koku grabs his pencil and starts to graph out the solutions and formulas that he had given this dense boy two pages ago. How is it when he visits Minguk for a session, Minguk’s ruler doesn’t end up on his hands and rather, on his nose like the incomprehensive dimwit he was.

They have been going on about quadratic formulas for a week by now, but it seems that Minguk’s brain couldn’t wrap around such a simple equation, always asking questions he supposedly knows the answer and solution to.

Sometimes Koku’s brain supplies that Minguk is doing this to spite him- indeed, he hadn’t been fond of Koku ever since he volunteered to be his tutor.

(Don’t tell Minguk that Koku has seen his report card and all of his subjects were straight A’s, so something must clearly be afoot.)

He shoves a few worksheets Koku has solved himself earlier today, and while Minguk is busy pretending he is unaware of graphing the domain and range, Koku’s mind reverts to America.

He can’t wrap the idea of what his brain wants from her; sometimes she’s in his thoughts like a sweet memory, a morning star to rival the moon arising from the tides for the small waves to rack the shores… sometimes she was like an annoying little weed he has difficulty removing from his vast garden of literal death.

There was something in her that made his mind do a complete 180 from what he was doing, focusing back to her, always her, now and forever.

America makes him feel… like he is complete, like he has nothing to hide from the woman as she cosies up to him, and with cheeks pink he opens his mouth and tells her a secret, one at a time, in random, unravelling the knot growing inside his stomach, because talking to America had made the entire air around them feel _natural_ , like his entire life did not revolve around the man who ruined his life from the start of his fate cutting in half.

He feels something with America, something peculiar and twisted because his heart goes haywire for the way she looks at him, even if she looks annoyed or panicked or suspicious, a look is a look.

Koku always immediately goes warm whenever he thinks of her, so flawless with her looks but flawed with her attitude and personality, lips always curled into a thin line and her eyes serious, but when she smiles or laughs, it brings him complete and utter joy, a flower blooming in spring as dew touches its stem, the bright and warm sun behind it, guiding the flower to the right path.

He can feel butterflies in his stomach every time he looks at her, like it was the end of the world but she’d be his saviour.

It’s honestly panicking how a simple smile and touch is enough to make him melt.

Why does she make him feel like that?

“Koku?”, an irritating voice snaps Koku out from his thoughts, and he goes back to giving Minguk an undermining look. He was looking up at Japan with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and he opens his mouth, but before he opens his mouth he stops him right there,

“Don’t bother”, Japan sighs as he inspects the item Minguk is ‘stuck’ on, feeling Minguk grin beside him. “I can do your homework _myself_.”

-

Meanwhile, America was pacing Shanghai’s room, muttering a few phrases to herself as Imsi calms a still shaken Shanghai down, who was saying that Koku was going to drag her away. Which is puzzling- did this woman have a history with the Nippon family? Because it seems quite obvious that she has, since the first emotion she reacted outwards to Koku was pure, unadulterated _fear_.

Then an idea lights up: maybe Shanghai had ran afoul of Teikoku once; maybe she was held captive by the bastard for something.

From Shanghai’s wild eyes and shaking body, perhaps she actually _had_ an encounter with the bastard.

Not a good one, though.

America’s brain comes back to the woman’s name: Shanghai.

The name sounds familiar, like a pearl falling to the waters and its owner desperately trying to differentiate each and every single one of the artefacts, trying to find which is which in the vast sea of pearls being offered out to them. Shanghai was calming down now, Imsi soothing her while giving her hushed whispers of comfort. America studies the woman’s face, trying to put a finger to where she had seen it before, once again putting one real face over another printed one, in those damned Wanted and Missing posters that are littered around her office, and she _still_ couldn’t be bothered to study each one of them.

America thinks the woman’s name was familiar, from a bunch of documents she had studied years ago, knowing that she was one of _Minguo’s_ mob members.

Zhonghua Minguo, who disappeared from the face of the earth a decade ago, leaving all his territories and old members at the mercy of other mafia mobs.

Imsi rubs Shanghai’s back soothingly, as she buries her face into her hands, curling to a fetal position as the only man in the room glances at America.

“So, what’re you doing following that bastard?”, Imsi asks, a poisonous tone in his voice, hatred in his eyes as he glares at the door. “Do you have a plan to get Teikoku arrested and my sister-in-law out of wherever she is?”

“Canada’s doing the spying in the brothels”, America explains, her eyes on the door, “I’m trying to get answers on the inside.”

Imsi’s glare hardens through the door, a black hole to Koku’s galaxy, “Do you have any evidence that Teikoku’s doing something _more_ _than_ a normal mafia crime here and there?”

“Some compelling evidence, but not compelling enough”, America replies, her eyes on a shaking Shanghai.

“Why are you with Koku, then?”

“Canada told me to play bodyguard with the guy’s brother.”

“And? Did you extract any secrets from _him_ if Teikoku is hard to get through?”

America shrugs, “I mean, he’s only talking about his life, but not to Teikoku’s schemes. And from one of Australia and New Zealand’s statements, he wasn’t really stoked on his marriage to Ost.”

Imsi rolls his eyes, crossing his arms, “Just because he isn’t shown to be ‘ _aware_ ’ of his brother’s deeds doesn’t deem him innocent! Give me _one_ good reason to take pity on Teikoku’s family, aside from that bastard being their brother and father.”

America purses her lips, her mind going back to Koku’s warm summer smile and ruffly dark hair, his grey eyes piercing her with thunder and lighting, stormy grey clouds giving her solace as she takes shelter from the rain; frankly, she has no idea why her mind is acting like this around Koku- perhaps it was just because he was one of the only people who looked at her without wanting something from her.

She meets Imsi’s eyes, still firm and filled with hatred for the Nippon family that ruined his life all those years ago.

“Look, I don’t like Teikoku too”, America responds, “but I gotta say, his family is quite pleasant to be around with-”

“Yes yes, ‘ _pleasant_ ’”, Imsi spits acidly, “but that doesn’t mean _ttong_ to me. Teikoku has my _gajog_ , and he’s torturing her as we speak.”

America’s eyes hover back to Shanghai, something clicking inside of her to why her reaction to Koku being in the same room as her was explosive. She stretches, hands back on her head, staring right back at Imsi.

“Meanwhile, you have one of Teikoku’s _properties_ ”, America deadpans, gazing at the woman, who stiffens at America’s statement, then goes back to shaking once again, muttering and whimpering, as Imsi’s glare hardens, daggers staring at guns.

“How _dare_ you address her like that!”, Imsi berates, more like an offended father supporting his child than a man who was trying to tell someone they were incorrect. “She is not one of Teikoku’s ‘properties’, and even if she is there’s a reason why she left _hell_.”

“She’s the woman Canada saved”, America states, unhindered from Imsi’s outburst like he was a petulant child in need of discipline, “she’s a _prostitute_ , Imsi.”

“How dare you!”, Imsi shoots back, “how dare you call her that! You think you know better?! You think that just because she is a prostitute means that you have full right to shame her of her shortcomings?! Shame on you, _Migug_!”

“N-no”, comes Shanghai’s croaked voice, looking up at America, her face wet with tears, her make-up ruined from drenching it whole. She was staring at America with large eyes, full of insecurity and secrets, her entire body still shaking with a magnitude that will rival an earthquake that Poseidon would wreck upon humanity. “S-she’s right, Imsi- I came from Teikoku.”

America did not look proud or held herself in a prideful disposition, keeping a straight face as she let Shanghai continue.

Imsi shakes his head, eyes shining with worry and sadness. “N-no, there has to be some mistake-”

“No mistake”, Shanghai breathes, trying to level her breathing, lungs cracking underneath the pressure. “I was one of Teikoku’s… _toys_.”

Imsi repeatedly shakes his head, still possessing the sad look on his eyes. “No. even if you are, you don’t deserve to call yourself that.”

Shanghai gives Imsi a glassy-eyed look, “You say that but that won’t help me overcome the truth, Imsi.” She escapes from Imsi’s grasp, who was still denying the truth despite the fact it is hanging right in front of him, telling him of a great wide truth that has been accepted by the two girls in the room. Shanghai’s back hunches, body shaking as she starts to crackle into nerve-wracking sobs. “I don’t deserve your kindness. I’m just a whore a cop saved since I couldn’t even save myself.”

The room lapses into another awkward and rigid silence, complete with Imsi staring at Shanghai, face clouding with sadness, trying to think of ways to help the woman. Her shaking body was like the land shaking as another earthquake hits the place involuntarily, a hardy and sturdy resolve within her, her tears are the rain flowing down to kiss the ground with the daintiest and softest of lips.

Slowly but surely, Imsi parts his lips to speak, low, soft, and all the more fatherly, “You deserve my kindness, Shanghai. I don’t care if you were held captive by Teikoku, you are still a _person_. Don’t you ever forget that, _jinju gat-eun i ttawi_.”

The statement causes Shanghai to sob slightly quieter, but her mourning and shame was still evident. Imsi does his best to comfort her once again, more like a patronising and selfless father than a caretaker.

But there is no more time left to mourn.

America composes herself, “Shanghai, do you know this man’s sister-in-law?”

The sobbing woman in front of her tries controlling her sobs to comprehend the question. “W-what’s her name?” She glances at Imsi, who was biting his lip, before standing to search the entire room.

Imsi comes back later with a photo of a bright young woman, looking more like the twins’ sister rather than a mother with her smiling, youthful face, golden eyes staring into America’s soul, pearly white teeth directed towards her husband (a man who resembled Imsi’s look too much it was haunting that a dead man can live within someone’s looks), who was wrapping an arm around her, not looking into the camera and rather at his wife. Imsi offers the photo to Shanghai, who gasps softly of familiarity, eyes on the young woman.

“Do you know her?”, Imsi asks softly, gazing down at the picture with Shanghai, but his eyes were pinned on her husband, the other half of his soul, which had been rudely taken away by someone much crueller than death.

Shanghai traces the woman’s image, trying to get a vision in the past that she was real and not rather a digital adaptation. “Nabi… is your wife?”

Imsi’s eyes visibly go wide, before awkwardly chuckling and shaking his head, his dark eyes pinned on his twin once again. “No- she was my brother’s wife, Jeguk.” His reassuring stare morphs into a sad look. “He died a long time ago.”

She meets Imsi’s sad stare, “I’m sorry.”

He recollects himself, “It’s fine. It’s just… I haven’t seen my sister-in-law for ages. Is she with you?”

Shanghai nods, averting her gaze, “Y-yes… Nabi’s condition in our place is _complicated_ , to say the least.”

“What did Teikoku do to her?”, Imsi asks, a fire flaring in his voice, trying to signal a blaze, “if I get my hands on him I’ll-”

“She was his… _favourite_ ”, Shanghai badgers on, lips quivering, either from terror or disgust. “Many other clients seem to think so.”

Imsi’s face changes, his arms going slack, his dark eyes full of defiance against a regime becoming empty with realisation. He slowly turns to Shanghai, a look of horror in his face.

“I… I should’ve saved her from Teikoku, all those years ago”, Imsi responds, shaking his head, biting his lip, trying not to let the tears in his eyes spill and destroy his facade of calmness. “It’d be better if I was dead but at least the twins would still have their mother.” He caresses his left shoulder, as if a long lasting wound was there.

“No, don’t say that”, Shanghai reassures, “Nabi told us about her family. About you and her twin sons. About her dead husband, too much to the point she would become heart sick. If you died, it’d be another heartbreak for Nabi… and what about her children? She wouldn’t have picked a better caretaker than you.”

Imsi’s eyes cross with Shanghai’s much livelier one; as if talking about Nabi had gained her spirit, as if she is once again independent.

“And I was _good_ at keeping her sons together”, Imsi replies, eyes on the floor, but America knows who he was talking about.

Inmin.

-

The girl and the boy were walking side-by-side, shielding themselves from the rain underneath an umbrella, the girl’s arm linking with the boy, both of them at peace, both of them looking as if they are enlightened from many of what they’ve just endured this day. The rain didn’t seem to bother the both of them anymore, something in their touch halting their chance at caring at everything that nature seemed to throw at them, their touches becoming one and the same, warmth surrounding the both of them, no coat and all.

“How’s your day?”, America asks, looking up at Koku, a serene smile and face being lit up by the lamp posts around the sidewalk, stepping on a puddle.

“My day’s great, thank you very much”, comes a chipper reply, his grey eyes stuck on America’s face once again, loving her smile. “ _Anata ga soko ni itakara_.”

America blinks, trying to make sense of Koku’s statement, “Eh?”

Koku just chuckles, handling the umbrella tightly, smiling brighter at America. “ _Nanimonai_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guten Abend- good afternoon  
> Gifu- father-in-law  
> Es tut mir leid- I’m sorry  
> Shiroi bara- white roses  
> unsu nappeuge- unfortunately  
> Ije gaja- let’s go now  
> Gwaenchanh euseyo- are you okay  
> Mwoga munje ya- what’s wrong  
> Gajog- family  
> Jinju gat-eun i ttawi- pearl  
> Anata ga soko ni itakara- because you were there  
> Nanimonai- nothing


	8. Midnight Memories

Japan isn’t sure if he can honestly try being honest with himself any longer. **  
**

His eyes land on his bodyguard, chatting away as they once again walk side-by-side to the Deutsche Towers; everyday, he had been so hesitant and reluctant to take a single step to the direction of the towers- fearing the Man with the Butterflies and his conscience screaming at him that dating and pretending to love a fifteen year-old was morally wrong.

But when he was joined by America to his walk to torture, her own presence was enough to submerge the fear and doubt inside of him.

“Why does Teikoku want you to marry someone younger than you by a decade?”, America asks as she lightly kicks a pebble out of her direction, her eyes wandering around for any sign of danger lurking.

His mood sours at the mention of the marriage, as he rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics, “My brother wants to take away my rights to marry someone I actually like. It’s… kinda obvious that Ost isn’t my type.”

America chuckles, “Then who’s your type?”

Koku doesn’t respond, his eyes turning to the Tower ahead of them, a green butterfly on its sign. He physically recoils at the sight of the butterfly, but he knows that damned drone had already sent its master the message that they are already here. The girl next to him stares at him, wanting him to explain what was so frightening about a butterfly ever since she’d seen him cringe at a butterfly yesterday.

Just then, the doors to the Deutsche Towers open, letting out chilly and cold air that has been trapped inside of that accursed place, being stored of corpses known to rival the course of time. As he and America enter its walls once again, its translucent windows give the whole hallways a somber mood, like it has always been, all the time, forever and ever.

He hears someone’s feet colliding with the wooden steps of the stairs, and he silently grimaces as he looks up to find Weimar on top of the stairs, grin lopsided, his butterflies fluttering around him, his insect-covered suit draping across the stairs like a cape.

Weimar’s smile wasn’t the smile that’d give people a warm time in the sun- it was the opposite; a cold winter settling in after a large famine was brought down upon the great house, his emerald green eyes bearing nothing but days of insanity trying to mask itself as sanity, his light blonde hair trying to match the sunlight but ultimately failing.

“ _Willkommen zurück_ ”, Weimar says in his signature grin, eyes landing back at America once again, fuelling with hatred and desire to murder her himself.

It confused Koku; did Weimar and America have a distant past that made the man distrust her? If so, why didn’t he tell him about her. Japan turns to look at his bodyguard, who was trying to hold Weimar’s malevolent stare.

Japan elbows America lightly, breaking her staring contest with Weimar, and she meets his eyes, which were now full of irritation, and he gives her a look of warning- never dare cross the Man with Butterflies. If you do, he will unleash your secrets to the public, a torrent of whispers and wings fluttering through the crowd like it was glass and there were holes.

Koku made the mistake of daring to cross Weimar, and he vows never to let it happen again.

“Let us have our lunch, then”, Weimar says in a pleasant tone, his eyes still on America as he takes a few steps down to pat Koku on the shoulder, his hands ice cold to the touch, screaming death and dissonance deep inside of Koku, and he wishes to break free from his grasp as Weimar’s palms lace with a cold poison, enough to kill him in sight.

Weimar lifts his palm from Koku’s shoulder, and he smiles at the older man weakly, as if the touch had drained him of his energy. He nods slightly, one of his hands suddenly brushing America’s hand, warmth dominating the cold as the sudden friction of their touch resurrected him to live for her. He takes a deep breath, glancing back at America with a small smile in his face, as he silently takes her hand; she jolts in surprise, mouth agape as her eyes glint back at him with shock and surprise, but he doesn’t answer any of her hidden questions as he was already leading her to the dining table.

His smile falters a little as he finds Weimar’s children already seated at the table, talking to themselves about a ‘dreamy and charming man’ while Austria stare at them with looks of pity and concern, as if this ‘man’ Ost was talking about has nothing to do with the family at all.

Japan takes a seat at the table as well, a slight distance away from the chattering twins, and an even bigger distance from the Man with Butterflies, who was staring at him with the most unsettling smiles he could muster- perhaps on purpose.

America shifts uncomfortably, still standing, her hands behind her back as she bites her lip, looking around awkwardly for chairs to sit on.

“Um, Mister Weimar”, Japan calls out for the man himself, who was having a heated yet soft conversation with Austria, out of earshot. Weimar’s eyes shoot in Japan’s direction, who was more or less obligated to forget what he was going to request to this man but chooses not to. “Can you bring another chair for my friend?”

Weimar pauses, his conversation with Austria long forgotten, then a smile curls upon his lips, as if Japan’s request was one of the most ludicrous things he has ever heard in his entire life. His eyes turn to America again, who was biting her lip and avoiding eye contact with him, her eyes on a green-winged butterfly. As a reflex, he pulls on her hand, so that America could look anywhere else other than that damned _chocho_ that will see her every secret set aflame and spread into the winds.

Weimar sees Japan’s firm expression, and his smile falters a bit, staring at his plate of rare, pale-skinned meat.

“Ah”, he clicks his tongue, “you’re serious.”

“America needs to eat too”, Japan insists, trying hard not to sound rude or subtle.

“Fine”, Weimar says, no malice nor hatred in his voice as he tells Austria to get a chair. “For the whore”, he adds, under his breath, but despite Japan’s long distance from him, he hears the statement and he scowls.

“ _Kanojo ni denwa shinaide_ ”, he mutters underneath his breath, and America pivots to look at him, evidently hearing what he said, but he gives her a grin in return as Austria returns with a chair for America herself, who takes a seat next to Japan.

“I want to ask you, America”, Weimar begins, his eyes trailing on the woman next to Japan, a sly smile on his face, “whether you’ve caught my father’s murderer yet.”

Koku raises a brow, as he turns back to look at his bodyguard, her body frozen in place, her eyes on the stew Austria had served the both of them. Why would America, his _bodyguard_ , go around and look for Weimar’s father’s murderer? After all, America hadn’t appeared in all his life until now, simply just walking into his life like it was nothing. On closer look on America’s stew, he sees a finger coated with soup in her bowl, and he reels backwards, knocking into a glass pitcher, which would have fallen if he did not catch it in time.

Beads of sweat start to form around his forehead, his entire world going blurry for a second, as if he was hallucinating the finger on the stew, as if reality was distorting on him, to make fun of him and himself. His grey eyes slowly make its way to his own bowl, and then he sees it;

An eyeball, looking petrified and soft underneath the stew.

The remnants of Koku’s breakfast start to trail up from inside of him, from his intestines, then to his stomach, then up his throat, threatening to vomit all over the entire table.

“Koku?”, his grey eyes meet with America’s green ones, worry and concern laced over her features, “are you alright?”

He swallows the half-digested matter down back to his stomach, as he nods, smiling a little as he stares at the stew once again, haunted by the imagery he had just witnessed with his own eyes. In the corner of his eye, he catches Weimar smirking at him, knowing what he fully saw, as he digs into his meat. Koku, with shaking hands, lifts his hand to try and handle his spoon, but he drops it on the stew, hating the way the eyeball stares back at him.

He catches Austria looking too, giving Koku a grim glance.

America reaches for her spoon, but he didn’t want her to eat fresh human meat, and he abruptly stands from his place, beads of sweat latching on to his face. Japan locks eyes with Weimar, only giving him a small smile of intent; if he says anything of what he had put in the stew, he’d be the one unknowingly fed to his own peers.

He turns back at his bodyguard, his shaking body also resonating in the shaky smile he gives to America. “I’m sorry, Mister Weimar, but me and my bodyguard aren’t hungry… thank you for your hospitality but we’ll be going now.”

His emerald eyes swirl with madness, and he laughs- no, cackles. “Alright then; you’d _regret_ not trying out our stew.”

-

Once the Deutsche Towers were out of their sight (and so were the butterflies), America swivels to look at Japan, her face laced with curiosity.

“What happened back there?”, she asks, her voice almost _motherly_ for someone like her. “You seem so panicked after you took one good look at my bowl.” Her face morphs into a thoughtful look, and her eyes are now wide with realisation; “did… he put something in the stew?”

Koku nods meekly, his eyes once again on the road, his legs weakly letting him trudge forward into the unknown (or: Minguk’s house), the skies mocking his entire mood, making him release more and more beads of sweat, as they drop to his shoe like raindrops or tears. “I thought I was hallucinating, and even now I was still denying it.”

“Koku”, America stops him from his track, eyes full of worry, “what _did_ you see?”

He slowly shakes his head, wanting to forget he’d ever seen those human parts in his stew, in America’s stew, but like a hard drive being inserted to a database, he cannot remove it so easily from his mind, so he transfers it to the one person he trusts in the entire world.

“I still think I’m hallucinating, but…”, he takes a deep breath, looking back at her. “I saw a finger, in your stew, and an eyeball in mine.”

America blinks, her eyes giving way to horror, as she finally realises what she was going to eat. Her legs buckle from underneath her, almost stumbling onto the concrete sidewalk, before Koku catches her with his arms, stabilising her. Her horrified eyes meet Koku’s, both of them finally realising what they were going to chew upon and put in their stomach. America tugs at her blonde curls, nodding silently as she excuses herself from Koku’s presence, phone in hand as she dials someone.

While he was waiting for her to come back, his mind goes back to what Weimar asked America; why did he ask her if she had tracked down his father’s murderer? Well, a bodyguard would have had experienced military training at some point; and despite him not witnessing all of her skills, he knows she is a prominent and prevalent woman who has experience with combat. And she did say she has brothers, so maybe they work in the police force too…?

America returns a few minutes later, blood coming back to her face, her eyes full of spirit again, just like she had been always and forever, perhaps for eternity, even. She gives him a look of importance, and they make their way to Minguk’s home once again.

“Honestly, if you don’t like teaching Minguk then don’t teach at all!”, America exclaims, as they near the Korean family’s house, a place where his own patience and sanity was tested by Minguk and his uncle.

Japan rolls his eyes; Minguk can be horribly annoying sometimes, but this whole teaching session is a break from Teikoku, a break from the dark force looming closer towards him, a smog of evil and treachery, wanting to tear all the good left in him, wanting to morph and transform him to be as scummy and evil as him, or even worse. There was an ache in his chest once again, as he remembers his mother’s cold and lonely eyes, wishing this was not the fate she had suffered under her own brethren- but of course, she died a sudden death. He did not want to be like his brother; did not want to be a puppet for something else, for Teikoku’s own selfish reasons.

He knocks on the door, ignoring America’s question, and he hears an onslaught of Korean inside of the household. They must be preparing for his visit, then, if they’re thinking of preparing for him like it’s the end of the world and that they can stop it. He hears someone’s footsteps towards the door, and the door opens, revealing Imsi, who was staring at Japan unimpressed.

“Come in”, he says, his eyes deliberately on America, who was meeting his eyes as well, “Minguk is getting ready for the lesson; America, _iyagihabsida_.”

As Koku settles down with Minguk at the table, he sees America following Imsi into Shanghai’s room; they must have been talking about something important behind his back since yesterday, if America is this desperate to leave his side for something Imsi needs for her to do. For Japan, he has to teach this ungrateful boy math that he pretends not to know the answer and procedures to.

The silence was unbearable; thicker than both blood and water, a silent night inside of the graveyard, trying hard to keep their silence eerie and disturbing too many people working inside, but Koku stays strong as he watches Minguk pretending not to know, pausing item after item, number after number as he taps the tip of his pen on his paper, creating black dots of all shapes and sizes of variety, the tapping of his pen annoying and bugging Koku, who was busily writing a few recommendations of books for Imsi and his friend.

An idea lights up inside of Koku, a smile creeping on his face before he turns to Minguk, who was still waiting for him to take cover for his patience is never long. He sees the twinkle of knowing in Minguk’s eyes, knowing that he knows what to do with all these problems printed on paper but not knowing how to solve problems made in the flesh, so Japan fakes a sigh as he looks disappointedly on Minguk’s paper, which was empty.

“This is the last time I’m going to teach you”, Koku says, “alright?”

Minguk stares at him for a little while, before giving him the number of items for Koku to teach him carefully and slowly, as if he was still a child being taught the alphabet. He opens his mouth as he starts to teach Minguk, but his procedures were carefully not giving the right answer, as he sees Minguk’s eyes flaring a little as more wrong numbers are settled out, and once Koku encircles the answer Minguk stops him.

“Is there something wrong, _Kankoku_?”, Koku asks in fake curiosity, as Minguk uncaps his pen, looking at his answer with skeptic eyes.

“Your answer is _wrong_ ”, he states, tone clipped, “for a math tutor who’s supposed to know his shit.”

Koku blinks, raising a brow, “My answer is wrong? You were the one who asked me to teach you - again - on how to solve this equation. Now tell me, oh wise _watashi no gakusei,_ what I did wrong?”

Minguk studies the - supposedly - wrong solution and answer again, as Koku hides a small grin once the boy starts to talk about the errors of his solution. He had been right, of course; he had done the entire math solution wrong, to bait Minguk out of his entire farce, to make him answer on his own, to see if he had been right and that he was not pathetic enough to have cheated in all of his tests to promise him the highest grades. As Minguk encircles the right answer - triumphantly and proudly, might he add - Koku couldn’t keep the small grin hidden in his face anymore.

Minguk grins at his work, “Takes a student in name to correct the errors his _tutor_ had done”, he turns to look at his tutor, who couldn’t help but chuckle softly, still looking at the papers. He raises a brow. “And why are _you_ laughing?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry”, Koku says between chuckles, “it seems that you don’t need to be taught the equations of quadratic formulas now.”

Minguk’s eyes widen in realisation, finally registering that he had blown his cover of being a dense and unteachable student. “Oh. Wait, then why are you laughing?”

“I’ve always known you were good at this subject- well, good at _every_ subject in your school”, Koku grins a little, “so I was kind of puzzled why you seemed unteachable, and that there’s a growing suspicion in me that you were cheating in your classes. I guess I was wrong, since you’re really smart.”

He stares at his tutor, mouth agape, either from Koku’s words of flattery or that he is still in shock his cover was blown; then again, he must be relieved since now Koku won’t have to question his intelligence once or twice.

“Uh, thanks”, Minguk says, awkwardly fidgeting on his chair, “I’m sorry for torturing you, _naneun chucheughanda._ ”

Koku nods, “It’s fine. I do hope we can get along now?”

Minguk scowls at him, eyes burning with a fiery hatred, making the smile on Japan’s face falter. “You think that I can be friends with someone whose family destroyed mine? No. _Jeoldaejog_ - _eulohaji_.”

His tutor blinks a little, then frowns. “Alright, I respect your choice.”

Inside Japan’s brain, he was fuming; why did he waste his time and energy with a person who doesn’t seem to understand that he was trying to befriend him, not letting go of the past, this past haunting and deep, deeper than the ravines filled with thorns and bones of those who had died falling or climbing back to the mortal world, this past as painful as the thorns in each rose stem, unforgettable despite every attempt. Minguk is clearly bitter about what Koku’s family did to his (but he cannot put a finger on why), and Koku could understand that- why would he be friends with the man who killed his mother, over and under?

Just then, the door opens, and out comes Imsi and America, both of them looking determined and firm, as if they had hope the entire world was still running around and their veins.

Japan remembered feeling hope, along time ago.

It shriveled up to dust and flew to the winds.

-

Dinner was a quiet matter in the Nippon house; they can only talk if they had something important in their minds, as everyone listens to their statement while handling their spoons and forks and digging into the food that the cooks have provided for them, the only noises heard is the porcelain plates being played upon. The crickets outside play quiet music, reminding the family they are not alone, as they quietly dine and make conversations with each other.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?”, Japan whispers to America worriedly, who shrugs as she watches Teikoku eat steak.

“I’m fine, Koku”, she reassures, “why don’t you eat? You haven’t eaten anything since the Deutsche Towers fiasco.”

“You haven’t eaten since we left Deutsche Towers too”, Koku counters, as he peers closer to his meal, still paranoid of seeing an eyeball on it just like the stew in the Deutsche Towers. “Thanks to me.”

America collectively sighs, “There was _something_ in that fucking stew. I’d rather go hungry than eat human meat.”

“Please just eat with us”, Koku pleads.

“The only thing she’d be eating would be men’s fluids”, Teikoku intervenes, a smile on his face, his eyes on America, “like the _slut_ she is.”

Koku chokes on his steak, his eyes pinned on America, who was biting her lip and looking down at the floors. He can feel a burning rage festering inside of him, wanting to throw his spoon on to his brother, uncaring of the consequences since he had just insulted America, who was busily doing her job of protecting him. He wanted to wipe off that smile on his brother’s face, tell him about how he'd had qualms about his joke, but all he could do was glare down at his plate as America shifts uncomfortably down the floors.

It seems that Teikoku can sense the thick and nauseous atmosphere gnawing down everyone’s throats, as Palau awkwardly refills her glass, Tokyo stares at his dinner before picking up his spoon _then_ putting it back down, Hokkaido was helping Okinawa eat his lunch as he fusses around with utensils, making gurgling sounds like the small child that he is. Teikoku takes another big bite off his steak and he laughs, his laugh echoing in the walls of this large house, too large to see the entire exit clearly, no escape, no end.

“What I said was _funny_ ”, he says, eyes on America and Koku, his crimson red eyes swirling with the need to make everyone suffer, “why aren’t you laughing?”

Koku takes a small bite of his dinner, also not feeling like eating. _You know full well why, asshole_.

Palau was the first one to collapse underneath her father’s pressure, as she put her fork down on her plate, plastering on a smile that would collapse after a minute or so, “Haha, that’s so funny, _Otōsan_.” She shoots an apologetic look towards America, who only nods in forgiveness.

Tokyo fakes a chuckle, which was more of an exhausted huff, tired of his brother’s scummy ways. “Truly funny, _Nīsan_.”

Hokkaido weakly laughs, fussing with Okinawa to make him giggle. “Okinawa thinks it’s funny as well, Dad.”

All of them give America sheepish looks, but America smiles weakly, silently stating that Teikoku has no match for her wits and that his words fall flat against her defences, her walls as thick as her bones. Koku, meanwhile, sneaks his free hand to entwine with hers for comfort, but she (purposefully or not, it still hurts) inches her hand away, and he has to take a bite out of his dinner so that he could quell and still his beating heart, who only beats for one name only.

Teikoku laughs again, this time more deranged and haunting, as if singing a song to chaos and disorder to come and take his entire family away, the echoes of his laughter still resonating inside this wretched home.

His eyes stretch to Koku, who was picking at his dinner now, not in the mood to eat. “What’s wrong, Koku? Too drained to eat?”

He gives his brother a small and tired smile, trying to diffuse the burning rage inside him. “Yes, I’m going to go to my room now.” He stands up, walking away from the dining table before his route is interrupted by a small laugh.

Teikoku stands from his throne of bright and shimmering gold, his red eyes smouldering. “You do know it is rude to leave dinner without having finished what is on your plate, right?”

“America can have it”, his brother replies casually, and before Teikoku can answer he is already up and running towards his room, followed by America.

“Miss America?”, Palau’s dainty feet catch up with both Koku and America as they both drift into Koku’s room. America turns back to Koku’s niece, flitting in a white frock, her dark hair highlighted with a few auburn curls, her green eyes staring at the woman in front of her.

“What is it, Palau?”, America asks, trying not to coo at the young girl (from her tone of voice and facial expression, it was quite obvious for Koku to see it).

Palau fidgets, leg bouncing a little, “I’m sorry for saying my Dad’s joke was funny.”

America heaves a sigh, kneeling down to reach the girl’s height and wrapping her around with her arms, and Koku sees the ring once again, closely tucked in America’s shirt. “It’s okay, I forgive you. It was your father’s fault, not yours.”

“But still”, Palau looks at America guiltily, and Koku can’t help but be struck with the sense of familiarity in these eyes, “I supported my Dad’s joke.”

Koku sighs, patting Palau, “You didn’t, you were forced to laugh with him. So were the others.”

Palau smiles up at America, her green eyes gazing at her with awe and wonder. “Sometimes, in my dreams, I wonder if you were my mother.”

She runs to her room, leaving America and Koku puzzled at what she meant. Koku gives America a small look as they enter his room. His room wasn’t that clean, per se; his blankets were wrinkled and not folded, clothes strewn across the room, mingling with the crumpled papers that Koku had thrown across the floor for several reasons; an open drawer with a pistol out in the open, and the trails of a knotted rope under his bed. Once America stares at the laptop sitting uselessly on his study desk, Koku kicks the knotted rope deeper beneath his bed.

“America, whatever Teikoku said at dinner, I don’t think that’s true”, he states, as America silently and listlessly looks into the distance, her eyes becoming glassy.

“Maybe it is”, America softly says, her back still facing him, as she hangs her head low, silently untying her blonde hair- the first time he had seen her do that in front of him. “M-maybe I’m just a slut, like what Teikoku said. Like what Weimar said.” She turns to look at him with tears rolling down her cheeks, forest green eyes showing too much sadness swelling inside of her.

Koku shakes his head, as he approaches the girl in tears, looking less like a hardened bodyguard that harbours his needs and more of a hurt girl. “No. Don’t say that America. They don’t know you.”

America chokes back a sob, clearly thinking about it seriously. “No, no, Japan. It’s true.”

He stares at her, “I know I don’t know the real you. That we’ve only known each other for a few days, but still; you’re not a slut. You’re not a minx. You’re not a whore like they say.”

She lets out a startled cry, wiping away her tears. “No. Please. You’re just making this worse. They _know_ me. You _don’t_.”

Her blonde hair falls down to her shoulders, tears still running down her cheeks as they softly drop down towards the floor, as Koku instinctively envelops her in his arms, feeling her shaking and sobbing body on his. He closes his eyes as he buries himself into America as comfort for his bodyguard, who believes every insult that was slammed across her body as if she was invincible to their attempts of humiliating her, degrading her, turning her into something else in their eyes.

But to Koku, he only sees someone who is… a normal human being, nothing more, nothing less.

“I don’t care if we’ve only met for a few days”, he says, looking back at America, who has seized crying but is now burying her face into Koku’s chest, her hair messy; he can feel his heart beating faster, a warmth surging inside of him but he disregards them to comfort America’s overwhelming feelings inside of her, combing through her hair using his fingers as she wipes the rest of her tears into his shirt, which didn’t bother him all that much.

America looks up at him, solemn green eyes staring right back at his firm grey ones. “I still know who you _really_ are.”

America scoffs, looking away, a hand on Koku’s shoulder. “You’d say _anything_ to stop me from throwing a pity party in your room.”

Koku raises a brow, “Who said you were having a pity party? I genuinely care about your health, since you are, after all, my bodyguard.”

She breaks away from his embrace, and he can feel his heart plunging. “Quit the talk about me being your bodyguard. You think you know me more than them? _Prove it_ , since I haven’t told you shit.”

Koku opens his mouth, trying to formulate words and recalling the times America wasn’t so private about her life, his mind going back in circles, but even before he can answer her, she scoffs, looking dejected.

“See? You don’t know anything about me.” She crosses her arms, looking away, her now loose hair covering the side of her face, “so don’t you ever tell me-”

“You haven’t even let me answer, America”, Koku interrupts, and she turns to look at him, “I may not know your past or your relationships, but from what I’ve gathered from watching and observing you, it’s this; you’re smart- not that especially smart but you excel, especially from all of those observations you’ve made, and the fact that you always think one step ahead; how you’re just so calm and collected, even when Teikoku and Weimar try insulting you; then there was those times you’re all… spunky and sassy- I thought it was annoying when you first showed up, but then… I’ve grown attached to it. And then there’s your moxie and charm, how you seem to handle everything with grace and elegance; I like that about you; even your negative traits, because it shows everyone we’re all human.”

Koku holds her hand, as she stares back at his eyes, the sun and the stars colliding to become a supernova of emotions, their entire world plunging to the inky black depths, no way out through the galaxies because the entire galaxy had imploded to create the world as they know it, universes screaming out about how they are just like the sun and the moon, as heavenly bodies watch and sway to their beat.

It was America’s turn to be speechless, the crickets masking her being unable to talk back to Koku.

“ _Watashi wa anata ga sukidesu_ ”, he whispers soothingly, kissing her forehead lightly for her comfort. “I think we both need to clear our minds this afternoon and evening.”

America raises a brow, “What are we gonna do?”

Koku stares at the window, which had already offered him a chance at escape. “Drink until Teikoku finds and kills us both.”

-

He had escaped through his window like a renegade numerous times before; away from bleak and grey reality, to the colourful lights around the City’s centre at night, its lights enchanting and blinding him from afar, his grey eyes flaring up with beautiful fascination at the entrancing and enthralling lights, loving the way they rival the stars in the night sky, with its overly intrusive lights, as if they are spreading out hidden stars from each and every crevice of the world, from the unknown to the known territories they have only uncovered in a matter of time.

Koku had learned how to dodge the boring and monotonous reality to make way for the great wide open, by following the lights in the alleys and corners that are willing to give him a chance of freedom, away from that damned man that sits on his throne of bones, freeing himself from the grasp of calm and seriousness, to embrace happiness and revelry like never before.

America climbs down first, of course; wanting to cushion Koku’s climb down, and also making sure the coast is clear, as if Teikoku was guarding this section of his home, as if any of his guards were to monitor the exits and entrances of this miserable and wretched house. As he scales the building down, he lands on his feet, the grass cushioning his fall. He stares at the stars, winking at him with mischievousness, as he feels a body pressed up to him.

He looks down to find America, staring at the stars, mesmerised. “I miss stargazing with my brothers.” She sighs longingly, and Koku smiles a little.

He tentatively takes her hand, which surprises her a little, as she stares back at Koku, getting lost in her green eyes, even more valuable than the jewelry that Teikoku forces him to wear to show off their fortune.

“I miss this serene surrounding too”, Koku replies, “do you want to explore it more?”

America stares at their hands, entwined like they were a star-crossed the heavens have chosen them to save the entire world from a great darkness. Then her once loose fingers tighten their hold on Koku’s hands, and he does the same, staring into each other’s eyes like they had enough time in the entire world.

“Let’s go.” Two words already made Koku feel as if he is invincible in a world where evil reigned, as they sneak out of the house, past the wired fence, and into the night, shrouded by Lady Nyx’s curtain of stars and the moon.

“When I said we were going to drink, I didn’t mean in a _bar_.” America sighs as she follows Koku into the sea of dancing people, all handling drinks, the booming music and neon lights blinking on and off no longer a hindrance to him, as he strides inside the bar, like he was one of them, like he had never embraced the suffocating standards that society had given him.

His ears muffle the booming music, as he leads America into the bartender’s table, who was busily chatting with his other customers, a cigarette in hand. He despises cigarettes, but he tries to tolerate them as he approaches the bartender, pale blonde hair matted, his icy blue eyes on a girl clad in revealing clothes. Koku smirks a little as he sits down on the stool, with America remaining standing, eyes narrowed as she peers into the bartender, as if he was familiar to her.

“Hey _Rossiya_!”, he catches the bartender’s attention, his light blonde hair swishing his way, as his icy blue eyes thaw with warmth, his face rising to a smile.

“ _Tovarishch_!”, he exclaims, as he approaches Koku. Behind him, America’s breath hitches as she continues to stare at his icy blue eyes. Russia notices America right behind him, and his smile falters as another blizzard hits him in the face. “Ah, I didn’t think you’d bring a friend over here.”

Koku - oblivious - snorts, “She’s my bodyguard and friend: America.”

The man stares at America suspiciously, before once again giving Koku a - rather forced - smile. “So, the usual?”

Koku nods, a daring glint in his eyes. “The usual.”

Russia rolls his eyes, already sliding down a glass full of whatever Koku had ordered, as he catches it in one hand, already taking a sip of the substance, fire going down his throat like a muddy hill, the drink naturally burning his throat as he feels hands on his shoulder, aware that America was still there to help him through his horrible choices in life.

He can feel his spirit being fuelled with more fire and energy, combining his heart and soul together to create even the worst of good.

Koku turns around from his chair to look at America, who was more or less disinterested at the fact she was around a mass with people having a good time, or the fact in front of her there were all kinds of drinks, still choosing her job over the excitement of a life in Night’s blanket. She was blankly staring at the bartender, who was lighting up another cigarette while flirting with a tipsy girl.

“Are you all right?”, he asks, quelling down the thought of green masking his every move, as America turns back to him, red splotches on her cheeks. “Do you know him?”

“Oh, uh, yeah”, she says, fidgeting with her fingers a bit, fingering her phone in her pockets, staring back at Russia, “we met once.”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously, but goes back to drinking, trying to hide his envy from the bartender, because being jealous is simply _ridiculous_ ; he had never felt these emotions before and he certainly loathes how and why it’s showing up now because America spares Russia a look or two is enough to drive him up the wall.

“I’m going to call someone”, America says to his ear, the loud music now an increasing dynamite in his ears, “mind telling me which quiet place I could call ‘em in?”

“The bathroom”, he simply replies, asking Russia for another drink, “be careful since a lot of people fucking in the stalls.”

“Alright, thanks!” She gives Koku a smile, as she struts down towards the direction of the bathroom, where a dozen drunk guys and girls were littered on and about, but Koku pays attention no more as he gives himself up to the solitude of drinking.

He didn’t know how many drinks he’d had this night - he lost count at a dozen - his vision blurring as the masses of people on the dance floor mix with the now annoyingly bright and flashing neon lights, as he stumbles around, looking for America through the midst of people, already having a migraine with how loud everything looks and sounds. Then, from his drunken haze, he sees America uncomfortably standing through the midst of the people, being disturbed by drunk men prowling on her, one even having the gall to put a hand on her shoulder, and she slaps it away, glaring defiantly into their drunken eyes, glowing with desire.

Koku decides this was no time trying to understand which was real and what was fabricated by his intoxicated mind; there was an overflowing sense of emotions deep in him, a lion finally roaring deep inside him, feeling the need to protect a person he cherishes all his life. He steels himself, trying not to look and act drunk in front of those thugs- he just wanted them to back off.

As he approaches them, feeling America’s air of uneasiness, he hears a few of those scoundrels’ catcalls and statements.

“How come a pretty lil lady like ya haven’t appeared ‘round here?”, one coos, slightly drunk, but his speech was - undeniably - perfect.

“Soooo glad fresh meat showed up in heeeere”, one slurs, his eyes on America’s chest, as if expecting her to take them off, but she just glares right at her. The man just turns to another man with a sly grin. “And a spunkone atthat.”

The third man just chuckles, still looking at America hungrily. “She’d be shubmissive once she gerron teh bed though.”

All men laugh at the statement, as America tries to escape their group but one of them grabs her at the wrist; she tries to pull her wrist away, the men closing in on her, but Koku was faster.

He swiftly enters the group of men and slaps away the hand on America’s wrist, swinging an arm around her shaking body, as she stares at him with her forest green eyes, anticipating his next move. Koku glares at the men, wishing that his eyes could kill, trying to find a way to calm his beating heart and maudlin mind, thinking of words to say, hoping that him being tipsy is not that obvious.

“Who tehfuck are ya?”, one of them says, his face blurry against Koku’s vision, despite him wearing contacts.

“Sh-she’s my girlfrieeeend”, he says, clearly drunk, but still knowing what he’s doing. America from under his grasp jolts at the sudden lie, as she looks up at him once again, confusion and embarrassment in her eyes. “Meaning you can all _fuck off_.”

There was a tense pause within the group, the only thing trying to break their silence was the booming music and the noise of the crowd on the dance floor, as Koku tried to stand straight, glaring at them all, a storm wishing to unleash a torrent of destruction.

Then one of the men laugh, “I don’t think you are prove that you’re her ‘booooyfriend’.” The rest of the men snigger, as Koku just scowls at them, staring tentatively at America.

She was lost in thought, as if debating whether or not to actually do it with him; even his heart was beating and his mind pounding, but not from the drinks he had taken, and rather from what he was about to do, his knees going weak as his brain conjures up multiple to thousands of scenarios where this would be weighed lightly, and not in a situation where they fabricate something that doesn’t wholly exist, a lie to carve out all lies, a diversion for someone else's blessing. He could think of the most romantic ways on how he and she would do this, not in some bar that reeked of predatory men, but in a gorgeous scenery, rivalling the ones on his mind.

Koku takes a deep breath, before putting a finger to America’s chin, pushing her up, until she can see him clearly now, through his drunken haze and into his grey eyes, trying to see if there was consciousness inside of his mind. “ _Watashi o yurushite_.”

Before America could answer or his beating heart and brain tells him this was needlessly a horrible idea, his lips collide with hers as his mind starts to scream and shout at how he shouldn’t be kissing a girl he likes in the least romantic way possible, to fend off these worthless fucks he’d have no trouble beating to the ground. He feels his entire insides burst with too much emotions to describe, that even his drunken mind could not taint with horrible and indecent thoughts, too infatuated with America to consider imagining her with disgrace.

He feels her knees buckle, and his arms snake across her back as they feel time stop around them, her arms on his waist- he opens one eye to take a curious peek at the girl he was kissing, and starts to go red once he sees how invested she was in this fabrication, as her red lips part to give him more room to kiss her, her eyes closed.

He was guiltily in love with this; in love with the way America’s body was pressed up against him, in love with how she was giving herself away to him for a short while, in love with the way her heart was beating the same beat as his. One of his hands rake through her loose blonde hair, its wavy curls hypnotising him, making him sway to the beat of the booming music, and he wishes that time would not pick up its rhythm again and break their kiss apart.

But of course, the magic is over, as America gently parts from him, her face red and eyes shining of embarrassment and fascination. Meanwhile Koku’s still intoxicated brain feels as if it was going to break itself into tiny little pieces, losing it, missing the way they dance to the tune, as their lips tingle and loved every touch they made.

They break eye contact, as they face their audience, a group of drunk, middle-aged men, whose faces were unreadable, the silence as brittle as his and America’s kiss. His first kiss.

And again, all the men laugh, their breaths mixing, as they stare back at the couple with mocking eyes.

“‘Ve seen berrer kisscenes in pornos”, says one, as he takes a swig of beer, “that was nutin’.”

“Have a harime tellin’ if these two’re really datin’”, another man replies between laughs, and Koku can feel his cheeks searing red.

“I dun feel th’love”, says one another, “the girl looks more like a whore to m-”

Before he can finish that sentence, however, someone punches him on the cheek, and he collides with the walls behind him, and Koku, fists clenched and knuckles bruised, inhale and exhale harshly, his grey eyes glowing with a murderous blaze, no longer choosing to play nice.

“Call her that again”, he snarls between gritted teeth towards the other men, as the man he had punched recovers from his assault, massaging his nose, which was bleeding out blood. “I dare you. I FUCKING _DARE_ YOU TO!”

“H’broke m’nose!”, says the man, still holding his nose, dropping his glass of vodka somewhere. “This asshole broke m’nose!”

“Good.” Koku braces himself for a fight to come, eyes narrowing at the others, who were now marching at him with slow but formidable speed. “‘Cause you’re all going to regret calling her that.”

He had been trained to fight self-defence from a young age; and he knew all moves and had practised them in his room, whenever he thinks he’s in private or with one of his brothers (Teikoku had skill he could never match up to, but he could beat Tokyo in a fair match). He ignores the pain in his knuckles, knowing that he was more satisfied with the fact that he had dealt enough damage to that fucker’s nose.

He turns to look at America, who was staring at his knuckles, then at his determined stare, before he goes back to try and beat up the others too. The fight had gotten everyone’s attention too- soon an entire circle was surrounding them, and much to his chagrin, many started to chant, deliberately causing the pounding on his head to increase, as his vision starts to blur, intoxication getting the best of him-

Pain explodes on his left cheek, as he can feel himself toppling backwards, his eye and cheek swelling up with pain. He hears America’s cries in the background, but it was drowned out by the chantings of the crowd forming. From the corner of his eye, the bartender was not behind his bar, as if he was never there.

“What, not gon’ gerrup?”, one of the drunkards ask snidely, the others roaring with laughter, as Koku’s vision increasingly goes blurry, as he tries narrowing his eyes to see who decided to hit him, his heart throbbing, his lips tasting copper. “See, thish man’s a weakring.”

Koku bounces back like fire, and without warning he sidekicks another drunk man, who slides down the floor as if it was merely a slide and the other growls as he pulls Koku up by his shirt, spitting on his face as if he was spitting acid, but Koku spits back at him, his glare multiplying, as he hits his perpetrator with ease, sending him toppling down the floor, breaking his grip with his shirt. He stares at his last opponent, who was getting ready to try to give him a punch, but he sidesteps and sends the drunkard crashing to the crowd, the crowd oohing and aahing.

“Japan!”, America calls out, as she grabs him by the shoulders, and the neon lights are replaced by her worried face, her eyes swirling with concern and worry, and her lips shaped like an ‘o’, “we _need_ to get out of here! You’re too drunk-”

Without thinking (his mind has now submerged to rock bottom) he closes his eyes and leans in to kiss her again, her lips coated in warmth, making him swoon with pleasure and regret that he did this drunk and without her consent, once again feeling her body pressed up on him, her hands raking through his hair, her legs dancing with his, as he himself combs through her blonde hair once again, his knees going weak, his lungs spreading fire to his heart, loving every second his heart beats for her.

America pushes him away harshly, making him lose his balance for a second, before he catches his own body, before he hits the ground. Once again, in his drunken haze (and perhaps pain), he can feel his mind and heart screaming as one, at how he did not think this through and clearly, at how America would of course not want a drunk man to kiss her as if this whole thing was real, that they weren’t in a bar that reeks of beer and drunk men and women prowling on fresh meat, that he wasn’t at the very least looking mangy-looking.

(His mouth must have tasted like blood from that hit.)

Again, without thinking of his consequences, he opens his mouth, “ _Anata wa watashi o sukide wanai_?” He had no chance of translating his words, as in the corner of his eye one of the men tries to hit America, but she looks back just in time before completely desecrating his face.

America stares back at him, “Koku, your brother’s going to get worried when you show up in your house like _that_. Let’s go home.”

Koku shakes his head, disregarding the hurt he had gotten from America, “No, not until these guys are on the ground.”

Before America could speak, he goes back to the drunk men who had decided to disturb his peace and ride away from the distorting reality; one tries to catch him with his grubby little hands but Koku quickly clenches his fists and uppercuts the asshole, knocking out one of his teeth, as another tries to punch him again, ultimately succeeding as Koku staggers back but he comes back by striking him with the back of his hand, anger exploding and erupting like a thunderstorm.

Gritting his teeth, he kicks another man in the chest and as he lies on the ground, Koku steps on the man’s rib cage, making the drunk man gasp in pain but before he tries to recover he stomps on the drunkard more, harder- another man tries to sneak up at Koku once again, but America steps in and kicks him on the groin, leaving Koku about to hit him-

He feels a hand tighten its grip around his arm, and with the last of his strength he looks up to find Russia glaring at him, light blonde hair covering half of his face, his icy blue eyes crackling with fire.

“That’s enough”, his low voice booms, but instead of glaring at the one who instigated this whole mess, he turns to glare at America, “get out, the both of you, now. And Japan, go rest.”

He shakes his head, “Iie, noruntiiiirr… they _ayamaru_.” He takes a deep breath, his adrenaline rush now over, as he can feel his mind trying to shut down, as his legs buckle, but before he falls down the floor, he feels another set of arms holding him up.

“I’ll handle it from here”, America says breathlessly, glaring up at Russia, and Koku’s mind wonders what their past was together, his entire heart once again being poisoned with jealousy.

Russia shakes his head, “No, I’ll accompany you both out of my you both decided to desecrate.”

The drinks now seemed to finally have contaminated his brain; he can only see moving blurry objects, colourful lights dancing in his vision, despite the fact he was wearing contacts (or was one of them misplaced as he was being beaten up by those dudes?), feeling himself being lifted up, as his feet try to make absolute contact with the hard ground, but he feels as if he was in heaven, no boundaries whatsoever.

He hears muffled voices in his ears- but they were not directed at him, and rather at someone else, the voices in each ear making him shake and quake, the intensity of their voices too high for him to muster.

Then the arms holding him up cease to exist, as he drops to the ground; he groans in pain, his hands palming concrete, as he raises his grey eyes, to find two blurry bodies in front of him, both of whom he knows well. America was being pressed to the wall by Russia, whose face was getting closer, closer, closer to America’s-

Before he can muster what had happened, Koku’s consciousness fades, but he knew their lips collided.

-

Koku’s head pounding was why he woke up in the first place; he feels comfortable, yet hot and warm at the same time. He groans a little, feeling his mind pounding at his skull, begging to be let out but he refuses, now feeling the consequences of last night as the pain of earning a black eye and an irritating hangover now combines, creating an even worse torture method for himself. He silently swears, sitting up with struggle, and to his delight, he finds painkillers and a glass of water on the top of his drawers.

His unequal vision bothers him as well; as if he was standing in the coral reefs of the ocean, one eye fully submerged underwater, the saltwater fully blurring away his vision, and the other trying to peer into the horizon, but it struggles a little.

Koku sighs, as he untangles himself from his blankets, trying to ignore his hangover brain, drinking and taking the painkillers, which calms his blazing headache a little. He opens his drawers and fishes out his glasses; he takes his remaining eye contact out from his eye, feeling the entire world blur around him, before he puts his glasses on. In an instant his vision readjusts himself to fit in his perspective, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his heart.

The migraine was horrible, though; as if a thousand thunderstorms try penetrating his walls, as he tries to calm himself down with sheer willpower, as he goes back to lying down, trying to recall the night he had, and how and why he has a damned black eye. He only remembers Russia and America kissing, however, and something warm colliding with his lips, but that was it, as if the night did not exist and it had only skipped into the morning.

The door opens, silently interrupting his thoughts- he grimaces at the thought it was his brother coming to visit him, but it was America herself, who was sporting a large bruise on her eye as she stares at Koku, relieved.

“Thank _god_ you’re okay”, she says, breathless, “your brother-”

“Who did that to you?”, Koku demands, interrupting what America was going to say, a familiar fire burning inside of him once again.

America closes her mouth a little, blinking, then covering her bruised eye with her hand. “Uh, Russia did.”

Koku’s eyes flare with outrage and jealousy. If they had a thing back then, then America was right to leave him as he seems to have hit her a dozen of times.

“He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.” He tries to keep his tone leveled, but he was steaming, as America shrugs, sighing a little.

“He really _isn’t_.”

America opens her mouth once again, but Koku was not listening, in his haze of a hangover, his jealousy being replaced with a fiery rage, hating how Russia had just done that so simply towards America, and wishing he would have also just punched that asshole’s face to get it over with.

“Koku?” America was sitting on the edge of his bed now, legs crossed.

He clears his throat, now feeling butterflies in his stomach, “Yes?”

America tilts her head, shyly looking at him, her cheeks flustered red. “To make you feel better, you look… kinda cute with your glasses on you.”

He feels his heart explode and puncture his lungs, now having trouble to breathe, his grey eyes shining with red once again.

“Thank you.”

He finally has reason to wear his glasses once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Willkommen zurück- welcome back
> 
> Chocho- butterfly
> 
> Kanojo ni denwa shinaide- don’t call her that
> 
> Iyagihabsida- let’s talk
> 
> Watashi no gakusei- student of mine
> 
> Naneun chucheuganda- i guess
> 
> Jeoldaejog-eulohaji- absolutely not
> 
> Watashi anata wa sukidesu- i like you for it
> 
> Tovarishch- comrade
> 
> Watashi o yurushite- forgive me
> 
> Anata wa watashi o sukide wanai- you don’t like me
> 
> Ayamaru- apologise


	9. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name Guide:
> 
> Daehan Minguk- South Korea
> 
> Daehan Imsi- Korean Provisional Government
> 
> Daehan Jeguk- Korean Empire
> 
> Nabi- Colonial Korea, belongs to @redffeather

America was leaning on her chair as she silently observed the goldfish swimming in circles on her desk, her eyes glancing at her charging phone every second, as if she couldn’t wait to entertain herself with the advantages of technology that has been plaguing humanity since the very start of the world. She then stares back at the goldfish who was listlessly swimming, no life and no voice in the world, as the water makes soft currents following the goldfish’s swimming.

Quiet stretches over her office, her eyes going back and forth from the goldfish to her phone, trying to focus on one or the other, not wanting her thoughts to plague her mind like it did last night. Her mind had vomited up thoughts out of nowhere after her escapade with Japan two days ago; she can still feel his soft lips on her own, the way he had wrapped her arms around her in a rather warm and loving embrace, and the way he had defended her when she can defend herself against those assholes.

She touches her bruised eye, which was from a hit by Russia that night.

_Russia corners America on the alley walls, before she could even continue. She glares up at his icy blue eyes, flaring with anger as fire and ice coexisted. She could smell his breath lacing with vodka, his eyes kindling with loathing for her. The taller man presses his face against hers, and now his breath is hard to get rid of. She glimpses at the now passed-out Japan, and she realises she needs to apologise to him once he regains consciousness again._

_“You’re really a nuisance”, Russia growls, as his fingers dig deep into her wrist, while she tries to squirm from his grasp. Before she could respond, however, his lips crashes into hers, as . America’s eyes widen in surprise, his hard and dried lips making contact with hers, as she has no power to stop him, the taste of his mouth lingering on hers._

Of course she doesn’t think about that bastard; she’s thinking of Japan once again, who tells her she can have a break from her duties, with that kind smile and grey eyes showing how sincere and lively he is, and she can only smile back. He makes her feel something… warm deep inside her, a feeling she has never experienced before unless it was completely crushed by her own soul. A thousand feelings had crept up to her that night, as if his lips had given her another thought, to continue this sharing of warmth as if it was her own.

Goddamn it, she has been thinking of Japan lately, especially after that night where he took on a few punches for her sake.

(She misses those warm arms wrapping around her body like she was something.)

Her conscience wants to go back to Japan’s home though, but she stops herself.

It’s time for her to take a break from her fake job, away from everyone else, away from Japan and his family, because they’re all slowly driving her crazy.

She hears a knock on her door, and she tells them to come in.

Canada peeks his head from the door, his green eyes sweltering with anger; America spots him sporting a black eye as well. She smiles back at him, standing up to welcome his brother with open arms.

“Finally home”, she says, as Canada makes his way to her desk, also sporting a few bruises here and there. She frowns, as if she finally notices the predicament her brother was in. “What the _hell_ happened to you?”

Canada averts his gaze, gazing sourly at the windows where they find Philip plucking at red dahlias and Vietnam shaking her head as she silently watches her coworker with a grief-stricken face. He looks back at his sister again, a smile on his face, as if he had not been scowling and wishing to murder someone right now.

“Prostitutes”, he says simply, before opening the window and poking his head out. “Philip, Vietnam, I need you to gather our officers in the meeting room. I have an announcement to make.”

His sister raises a brow, “What kind of announcement?”

He gazes darkly at Philip, his kindly green eyes turning into murderous poison, his pupils aiming at one of his officers, wanting to shoot the golden ring Philip has on him a few days ago. Canada ignores his sister’s question as he marches out of her office, as if she had never been there in the first place, a ghost to all ghosts.

Canada - for the day - takes the lead of the meeting, which was a hard push of pride for America herself, who was now seated quietly at the front desk, as her brother stands silently, glaring at everyone around him, his green eyes that used to host kindness and friendliness replaced with a burning rage that destroys and sets the forests of green into a blazing colour of red and orange. America stares at him with a worried look, because he has never been in a horrible mood before, except for those times she or her other brothers purposefully threw out all his pornos.

Then America notices his glare lighten as he looks at her, then picks up again when he glances at India.

Vietnam loses her patience first, “What are you waiting for, Canada?”

That seems to snap him out from his trance, as he clears his throat and starts to talk about why he’s been making a face all day. “So a few days ago, I was absent from work due to collecting intel from clients of one of Teikoku’s brothels.”

He once again glares at India, who glances away, as if he had done such a deathly sin to get Canada fuming with rage. He collectively gazes at a few officers, shooting a wary look at Philip, who was biting his lip, his dark blue eyes on Canada, as if he had found out a dangerous secret that was once exclusive to his and only his is now being broadcast to the entire world, before he glances down to look at the pattern of the table.

“I met a few colleagues of Teikoku, some unidentifiable faces of corrupt officials and businessmen, and some…” Canada looks around the entire room once again. “Very, _very_ familiar people.”

From the corner of America’s eye, some of the officers are giving each other furtive glances, knowing what was about to come while the others were busily staring at Canada with confusion, as if it wasn’t possible for any gold-hearted warrior to be bribed with the promises of money and lust so that they can shield this horrifying secret away from the others who have come to search and find those kinds of secrets.

Canada smirks a little, as he steps on the table America specifically told him not to step on, but now is not the time as he, without hesitation, yanks India’s plaque from his uniform, and the man just stares back at his superior, meanwhile Canada was bending down and taking Bangladesh’s identification as a police officer, then Brazil, then Columbia, Ecuador, and Indonesia, all of them looking ashamed of themselves, as Canada glares at them, one by one.

He shakes his head despondently, before he finds his voice once again. “These officers don’t deserve to even be called as such. If they are this easy to manipulate, then we can’t trust them at all to do a good job. So, I’m firing them.” He turns to America for permission, and she looks at every single one of her - former - officers.

She can feel anger and justice growing deep inside her, as she continues staring at those who gave in to Teikoku’s promises and words of glory and fame, all for them to stop controlling their lusts and keep this whole secret from the entire department; they were supposed to be catching and arresting crime, but in the end they become criminals themselves, taking advantage of their higher position in power. She stares at every single one of them, anger amplifying like a raging fire, as she stands, commanding authority to all.

“They can’t even do their jobs properly”, she answers, narrowing her eyes to almost everyone of them, “so I’ll say this: if you can’t keep it in your motherfucking pants and decide to turn to more illegal methods of fucking, you ain’t fit for a position like this. Get out of my sight.”

Canada nods as he scowls at those whom he took away their privileges from, “You heard her. _Get out_.”

The fired officers take their leave, never looking back at the others who remain in their seats, who were all looking around, as America slowly sits back down, anger vanishing, and now left with an awful migraine, probably her bruise two nights ago.

Canada once again glares back at Philip, who was toying with the red dahlias he had plucked from the outside, ring shining, before stalking out of the room, then followed by his siblings.

-

“What the hell happened to your eye?”, Canada asks a while later, as he and his siblings were now lounging on the front desk as the others were on their lunch break. America subconsciously puts a hand over her eye, as she munches on the burger her brother gave to her.

“Russia”, America simply replies with a shrug.

“Russia? How did he do that?”, Australia asks from behind them, having finished a phone call from Villers.

America scowls. “Kissed me right in the lips. Then hit me.”

New Zealand looks up from his lunch with a raised brow, but his eyes scream outrage. “Asshole. How did you and Russia encounter?”

America shrugs, her mind trying to go back to that night but instead of Russia in her mind threatening her it was Japan’s soft lips pressing against hers. She immediately goes red at the thought, trying to disregard those churning feelings inside her as she keeps her face serious and not look like an enamoured teenager because that’s now what she is. She has a life now.

“Japan decided to go to a bar in the middle of the night”, she replies, “to ‘make me feel better’, I guess. And then I realised that Russia is one of the bartenders there and Jesus fucking Christ, was he horrible at it. Assholes decided to harass me but Japan beat them unconscious. Then he passes out from drinking too much.”

Canada tilts his head. “That was a wild fucking night. I, meanwhile, was being tied up by girls in the brothel because they think I kidnapped one of them. Shanghai, I think?”

America gives him a look, “I found her, by the way. Didn’t know you’d let a prostitute of someone as perverted as Teikoku leave without guidance.”

Her brother had the right to look sheepish. “I thought she would’ve ran to the police station.”

His sister shakes her head, “Found her in Daehan Imsi’s home. You know, the uncle of the guy we’re risking our lives for. He was very defensive when I called her a prostitute and one of Teikoku’s toys.”

Aussie sighs, “Why would you even say that with no hesitation nor remorse?”

New Zealand snickers lightly, “She’s always been blunt, no need to call her out more.”

Canada stretches his arms to the back of his head. “So America, did you find any more clues about what the hell Teikoku’s been doing?”

She immediately slaps herself internally; she was so busy taking care of Koku that she forgot about her assignment entirely, knowing she shouldn’t have come back empty-handed, but she remembered what Russia had told her before he had the nerve to hit her square in the face.

“Russia said something about Soviet Union trying to date Ost”, America says, before blanching- Soviet was a decade or more older than Ost, even older than Koku had ever been, meaning this age gap was even worse than the latter’s, but that doesn’t make it any better.

Aussie’s face sours, his eyes narrowing as he calculates Soviet and Ost’s age, “But Ost is fifteen and Soviet is- NOPE I’m not thinking about it!”

The others also look just as disgusted as their brother, who had almost dropped his cup of coffee out of sheer shock,

“What a creep”, Canada states, frowning, “exploiting a young teen like that. We need to do something, quick.”

“‘Creep’ isn’t even the word I’m looking for”, New Zealand replies, looking sick in the stomach. “That’s full-on pedophilia.”

“I’m wary of Soviet”, America says, “just as I’m wary of Teikoku and Weimar.”

“Didn’t you say on a phone call Weimar put something on your and Koku’s stew?”, Aussie asks as he takes a sip from his coffee mug. “Because that’s some fucked up shit, man.”

“Very fucked up shit”, Canada supplies.

“ _Really_ fucked up shit”, New Zealand adds.

“It’s Weimar’s dad, I’m sure of it”, America says. “Who the fuck puts their dead dad’s remains in a stew and expect people to turn cannibal?”

Canada shrugs, “Apparently Weimar. But we don’t have enough evidence that he murdered his dad. Remember; there’s no more body because he made people eat it.”

Kiwi nods thoughtfully, “A horrifying way to get rid of evidence, but still quite effective.”

“But what does Soviet want with Ost?”, Aussie asks out loud, as they come back to that messy subject. “We already know that she and Koku are going to get married, whether both parties like it or not.”

“To enrage Teikoku?”, America suggestively replies, “the letter Soviet gave to him seems to think it.”

“I don’t know, but it can’t be good.” Just then, Aussie’s phone rings and he picks up and answers it, his eyes lighting up and his lips curving to a bright smile, which means, “Ah, Villers!”

Everyone instinctively groan and sigh- the lovebirds are once again calling each other. America can feel herself subtly get reminded of the fact that she is now reaching her thirties (she technically is in her thirties but don’t correct her) but it seems that no one is interested in her or she hasn’t found the right person yet. Or maybe she didn’t seem to think no one would like her that way- there was this charming man back when she was fifteen who gave her a drink, but she passed out and ended up in her room barren.

And with child.

Aussie hangs up with a “Love you too babe!” (it makes America sick) and turns to stare at his siblings who were all victims of his damned monologue to his fiancee. He gives them all a huge smile, “Villers said she’s going to meet all of us in the park.”

Canada scoffs, “What, she organised a picnic for all of us?”

“She really _did_ ”, Canada says a few minutes later, mouth agape, as Aussie helps Villers set up the picnic table while she hums and kisses her fiance on the cheek, earning a chuckle from him.

New Zealand shakes his head fondly, “Never underestimate Villers.”

As the picnic table is settled, Villers and Aussie takes a seat on the far end of the table as the others take a seat with them.

America huffs a laugh as she looks at Villers, green eyes twinkling, “We already had lunch when you called us- you didn’t need to cook food for all of us!”

Villers laughs softly, a simple breeze to the harsh winds that strike fear in everyone’s heart. She was quite a warm lady, always caring more for others than herself. It is what made Australia so in love with her, and at the same time wanting to be like her in every single way. She was such a sweet dame, a lovely person with sharp wit and tongue, but that doesn’t mean she is going to let people step all over her as if she was just a doll.

“How was the kindergarten, Villers?”, America asks as she dines in with the others, and the woman’s eyes brighten like stars.

“They’re all so brilliant and talented and kind!”, she replies with a soft smile on her face, as she looks at Aussie shyly. “It makes me wonder if I would have kids someday.”

Aussie instantly goes red, as the others laugh and clap him on the back.

America laughs, “Glad to hear that. So, have you guys planned when the wedding will be?”

“When you get a boyfriend”, Aussie jokes, and America playfully throws her fork at him, lodging into the table as everyone laughs.

“Asshole!”, she exclaims. “Don’t be so smug that you’re getting married!”

“Literally everyone here is jealous you’re gonna get married first”, Canada says, as he shoots a look towards Kiwi. “What about you and Luxembourg, huh?”

Kiwi blushes with embarrassment, “Shut the fuck up about him!”

Once again, everyone in the table laughs, before they start eating the marvelous wonders of Villers’ cooking.

While America’s brothers are making absolute shits out of themselves in the park, America and Villers were sitting under the tree, the both of them enjoying its shade from the sun. She likes the sun sometimes, but not when it makes her all hot and bothered and gives her a sunburn just from staying under it for too long. Then again, it was a great source of warmth in the cold mornings, and a light that will vanish during stormy days and winter, when the sun was not confident to shine on those who he had saved.

From beside her, Villers sighs, her golden curls shining from the hints of sunlight peeking playfully from under the leaves. She looks on at Aussie with a small smile on her face, as she subconsciously pats her belly, as if something was growing in there other than the digestion of food. Her eyes sparkling from joy morph to one of sadness, her smile faltering as it crumbles.

America frowns, “What’s wrong, Villers?”

Villers looks back at America, her eyes shining with an undefinable sadness that she had never seen in the woman before. “Can you keep a secret?”, she says through hushed lips, and America hesitantly nods.

“Why?”

Villers takes a shaky breath, as her eyes show an intense sadness that even America herself never thought she’d harbring. “Today, I went to the pharmacy to get a pregnancy test after I complained of morning sickness to Aussie.”

Her friend’s eyes light up excitedly, “Are you pregnant?”

Villers holds back a sob, as she turns back to Aussie and the others, laughing and muttering gibberish. “I wish I was.”

America cosies next to Villers, “What’s wrong?”

Her friend was trying not to cry, as she sniffles a little, “I was so excited when the pregnancy test flashed positive. I thought me and the love of my life are going to have a kid.” She buries her head on America’s chest, while America wraps an arm around her comfortingly, her golden hair glowing with sadness, as if it obeys its master’s emotions.

“In fact, I was proven wrong by the doctors”, she says between sniffles. “They said I can’t bear a child. That I’m too infertile. I don’t think Australia would want me anymore after I break the news to him that I can’t have children. H-he wanted us to have a big family, you know.”

America stares at her sadly, as she lifts Villers’ face up so their eyes can come face to face, Villers stormy blue eyes full of sorrow and sadness in contact with America’s determined and comforting eyes.

“Villers, where did you get the idea that Australia would leave you?”, America asks softly.

She looks away, back at Aussie sadly, “No one likes an infertile woman.”

America sighs, shaking her head, “Now where did you find _that_? We ain’t in the fifteenth century anymore, where every single asshole would want their wives and daughters to crank out more babies. This is the modern world, and Australia will never leave you just because you can’t bear his children.” They stare at each other’s eyes once more. “So don’t say shit like that, alright?”

Villers nods hesitantly. “O-okay. But please keep this a secret.”

“I will, you have my word.”

“Oi Villers, look at what Aussie got himself too this time!”, comes New Zealand’s voice, and Villers immediately wipes her tears as she and America run towards the stream.

As America and Villers finally reach the stream, America almost chokes just from laughing. Australia was battling with a few frogs defending their eggs that were a few feet near Aussie. From the corner of her eye, Villers cracks a smile before she instantly laughs as a toad jumps on her fiance’s face, making him fall down the stream, splashing him even more.

“Filthy vermin!”, he shouts as he tears the amphibian apart from his face, as he turns to glare at his laughing siblings and fiancee. “I could’ve used your help, ya know.”

“It’d be better laughing at ya”, Kiwi replies between laughs.

“How did you even manage to get into a fight with frogs?”, America chortles.

“Well, whatever the reason, I think he needs help.” Without waiting for another beat, she approaches the fight scene as loads of frogs are now climbing on Aussie’s body, as he kicks and swears at them to get off. As Villers approaches, his mood suddenly brightens, as his fiancee brushes the amphibians off him gently, before kissing him in his damp stream-filled lips, and he reciprocates, his hands on her waist.

Then Aussie presses his body onto her even more, deepening the kiss and making Villers gasp.

“Get a room!”, Canada bellows from above them, as Aussie immediately breaks the kiss, with the woman in his arms looking dazed and lovestruck all over again.

He gives his older brother the bird as the others laugh, going back to the picnic.

(Somewhere, in America’s heart, she is overcome by the fact that she also dreams of looking at someone with lovestruck eyes.)

-

Shanghai dreams of a hundred hands tearing her clothes apart, bit by bit, faces mangled and distorted beyond recognition, just faces looking absolutely delighted to finally get their filthy hands on her like it was the end of the world. Their voices were like smoke in her nose; forever bothersome and polluting her lungs and mind, dirtying her soul and damaging her heart into tiny little pieces.

Then one of the hands finally tears the last layer of her clothes, and with a blood-curdling scream, they were all upon her like rats finding food.

“Shanghai!”, a voice from a distance echoes throughout her mind, but all she sees are hands everywhere, controlling her moves and body forever and ever.

She feels someone’s hand land on her shoulders, and she kicks the person away from her, her shaking body trying to guide her away from the trespasser, but all she could find are walls, walls, walls. They surround her, torment her with their solid boundary, knowing there is no escape between them and the man in front of her. She screams and shouts with all her might, loudly, hoping someone will help, but no one does, no one really does.

“Shanghai”, the voice says with a grunt, as she hears footsteps advancing towards her- there is no hope but to crawl into a fetal position and sob into her arms, knowing the inevitable was coming.

But no one kisses her in the cheek and whispers an inappropriate comment in her ear before pinning her down to the bed. But he was still there, waiting, watching.

She hears him sigh, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have startled you. I will be leaving you now, but if you ever change your mind, you can come out and have breakfast with me and Minguk.” She lifts her head from her lap, as she stares at Imsi’s back leaving her.

Shanghai remembers anything, and she immediately stands, “Wait.”

Imsi looks back at her with a questioning look. “Would you like to eat breakfast with us?”

Shanghai nods hesitantly. “O-okay.”

Breakfast was a quiet affair with Imsi and Minguk; Imsi encourages her to eat more as he reassures there will be a lot to feed the family. She cautiously takes a bite of her food, still paranoid it might be drugged, but as her tongue tastes the properties of the meat Imsi had cooked, she immediately eats her entire food from her plate. From the corner of her eye, Minguk was glaring at her suspiciously- it seems that he still has not got over his suspicions of her being a robber.

“ _Samchon_ ”, Minguk starts as he takes a bite of his breakfast, “when is she going to leave?”

She stops eating to look at Imsi expectantly, who drops his fork and is now glaring at Minguk.

“Minguk, where are your manners these past few days?”, Imsi asks, “because she will not be leaving unless she is now well.”

“I can leave now”, Shanghai pipes up, her eyes never leaving Imsi, at how easily he defends her than his own blood, “I feel fine.”

Nephew and Uncle stare at her- one with victorious eyes, the other with an unreadable look.

“Are you sure?”, Imsi asks with a concerned tone, too genuine to be considered fake. “You had bruises on your body the last time I saw you.”

She was taken aback at how he cares for her, as if she was just a family member to him, as if she is measurable to his nephew who seems to certainly be attached with. Shanghai hesitates, not sure if she should go out in the real world and risk being caught by Teikoku and his guards and being put back in the brothel (although she will be reunited with Nanjing and Ryukyu once again), so perhaps the safe move is _no move_.

She turns back to Imsi, “I don’t think I’ll be going for now.”

Suddenly, they hear someone drop their fork violently, with Minguk locking himself in his room, closing the door with a bang. Imsi shoots up from his seat, glaring daggers at the locked door.

“ _Dangsin-ui maeneoneun dangsin-eul tteonassseubnida_!”, he bellows at him in Korean, grumbling before sitting back down, toying uselessly with his food, a dejected look plastered on his face. Shanghai knows it is her fault that drove Minguk away from the dinner table, so she brings herself to comfort the man who had blessed her with a home.

“ _Joesong haeyo_ ”, she apologises in Korean, which turns Imsi’s attention from his rebellious nephew to her, his eyes wide with surprise and fascination.

“You speak Korean?”, he asks with a growing interest, his mouth curving to a smile. “Because you speak quite well.”

Shanghai nods, feeling flattered at the fact someone had complimented her language skills- this skill has faded over time, as the only vocabulary she knows in the brothels is playing the lowly seductress and screaming into the sheets as she tries to dream of a life where she and her sisters in the brothel are living in a paradise that no one else will touch.

“ _Gamsahabnida_ ”, she replies shyly, “I was a translator and knew a large number of languages back then.”

Imsi looks quite fascinated, as he completely forgets his food to turn his interest to her, but no lust nor desire evident in his face. “A job as a translator sounds really nice! I’ve mastered a few languages because I was quite curious, and also because I have no interest in making friends back then.”

Shanghai is taken aback about how blunt and honest he is about why he had learned a dozen languages in his lifetime, just because he didn’t want to make friends back then. She remembers that she was quite social, when her entire life was still a whole empire, and not the vast disorganised city states that her life came to be now. There was a hint of sadness and loneliness in his eyes, as if he regretted not making friends in his old life.

She doesn’t know how to respond, and she simply nods to the beat, “Ah, interesting.”

Imsi shrugs, as if this was no big deal and there are other ways to get over his loneliness. “What other languages do you know?”

Shanghai thinks for a moment- she certainly had not practised all of the languages she learned, and she feels like she has failed herself in overcoming her pain these past few years and never developed her old interests since her only interest was now to survive.

“I don’t know if I still remember some of them”, she replies hesitantly, “French, Swedish, Portugese, Russian, Italian, German, Danish, and Dutch.”

Imsi’s eyes light up, impressed. “I’ve… never even mastered _that_ many languages. I mean, I know Chinese, French, Spanish, Russian and German, but that’s it for me.” He smiles at Shanghai shyly, as if he is starting to make a friend after all these years hiding in books, getting lost in each page like he was inside a story rather than the real life where he is living and breathing and suffering.

Shanghai shyly smiles, once again feeling flattered at the compliment. She can feel an unnecessary but determined friendship growing at the both of them, their feet being planted at the soil as roots start to grow overnight, and in the morning a flower blooms in the gardens.

(After breakfast, she remembers that she is still wearing Imsi’s shirt, so she tries to give it back to its rightful owner while he is washing dishes- for some reason he feels uncomfortable at a woman taking a shirt off in front of him and tells her she can keep it.)

Minguk is out for school and Imsi is in his office, well, working, leaving Shanghai alone, lounging around the home with a bored expression on her face. She looks at all of the books in the bookcase- she had read almost everyone of them, but it doesn’t hurt to reread the same fictional words once again, so she gets up and examines the books that she feels she had not fully stemmed out, not fully fleshed out and fully studied.

She chooses Stranger in a Strange Land- she remembered thinking it was rather bizarre, and never gave it another chance, but she decides she’ll take a closer look at it today, knowing she will regret opening the book’s covers. As she takes a seat on the sofa, she inhales the scent lingering in her shirt; it belongs to Imsi, and it still belongs to him. Whenever she smells it, she can feel a sense of calm in her, as if Imsi is there comforting her wherever she is, she will be reminded that Imsi is there to shelter and secure her.

She makes herself relax a little, once again smelling Imsi’s shirt - _damn_ his cologne is enchanting yet comforting too - as she starts to read the book.

A few hours passed, and she had now finished the damned thing, and now she wishes to take a break from reading. Shanghai hears someone in the kitchen, and she turns to look at Imsi, busily making himself a drink.

“Hello”, she says, which shocks him a little, almost making him drop his drink.

He awkwardly smiles at Shanghai, shifting uncomfortably, “Is there something wrong?”

She shakes her head, “Nothing. How is your work?”

He averts his gaze, scratching his head, before looking at her again, “Well, I’ve been struggling at something, and I am pretty sure you have the knowledge to help me.”

Shanghai tilts her head, “Me?”

He nods, “You’re smarter than I’ll ever be. I can see it in your eyes.”

She cannot help but scoff at the way he says it, an old spark rekindling inside of her. “A boy assumes he can see my wit inside my eyes.”

Imsi gives her a small smile. “Well, you’re already doing it right now.”

Her eyes widen, as she realises what she had just said to the man in front of her. She stiffens, thinking that he is offended at what she had said, but he simply chuckles.

“I mean it, you know.”

Shanghai looks into his eyes, so genuine it hurts her. “I know.”

A few minutes later, Shanghai’s body is - uncomfortably - pressed up against Imsi’s, highlighting a few curves on her purposefully. Imsi looks neither interested nor aroused, but more uneasy and awkward, like he doesn’t want someone’s body making contact with his like this. She feels puzzled at the fact he is not giving in to her advances- many men who had been vulnerable to her wiles will have already taken their shirt and pants off just at the sight of her. He doesn’t seem to be caving in yet.

“Wow- I never thought about it that way.” He taps on the keys on his keyboard, as Shanghai points at something on the screen, purposefully pressing her body even more into his.

“Like that. The police sometimes can’t be trusted- they can be as corrupt as any government official. The problem of corruption is like a rot in the core.”

“It is something depressing, yet real at the same time”, Imsi agrees, as he leans further away from Shanghai. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

She blinks a little before realising he’s serious, then sits on his lap, with him grunting in both shock and awkwardness. “No, Shanghai, get a chair for you to sit in.”

“Oh… okay.” Once she gets herself a chair to sit on, she accompanies Imsi with his work, pointing out a few mistakes and suggesting a few words to enhance the vocabulary of his presentation, with the man thanking her profusely every time she points out something is wrong with his document.

Shanghai unconsciously buries her face in Imsi’s shirt sometimes- whether it be the shirt she is wearing or the shirt Imsi is wearing; it seems to have a calming effect on her, like she was standing on a rose garden as butterflies snack on the pollen in each blooming flower, paying her no mind as she roams around the gardens, wondering if she can always be there, if she can still find this in a place where she is in peril.

Once she is now helping Imsi edit and proofread the document, she can feel her stomach groaning and moaning, knowing that hunger is an old enemy she has to face.

(In the brothels, Teikoku had only given her and the other workers a formidable amount of food, but in the end she only eats little of it and gives most of her food to the younger girls who are more in need of food than she ever will be.)

“We’re finished”, Imsi says as he stretches his arms over his head, a smile on his face. “Wanna celebrate by going to the malls and buying food? I’ll pay, of course.”

She bites her lip; on one hand, she wishes to explore how much has changed while she was stuck in the brothels like a dead woman inside her coffin. But on the other, Teikoku will know she has escaped his clutches and now he’s hunting her down like a dog. She shakes her head, a little rapidly, making Imsi a little concerned.

He nods, understanding. “All right, I’ll just make lunch for all of us.”

That is one thing that can make her nod, as she follows Imsi out of his office.

She submissively waits for him to finish cooking, her arms on her lap, eyes on the table, biting her lip with a clear vengeance, now tasting copper in her mouth. There is a thick but comfortable silence, enveloping the both of them, only to be broken by Imsi’s singing, which was calming her down the same way Imsi’s scent is.

“I like the way you sing.” That statement makes Imsi jump, as he looks back towards Shanghai with a flustered look.

He gives her a lopsided smile, “Thanks. I rarely sing since my voice is crappy- Minguk’s the better singer, but thank you.”

She shyly smiles at him, “You’re welcome- you should sing more.”

He laughs, which was surprisingly pleasant to her ears, as he goes back to his work. “Your voice is quite melodious too.”

Instead of being flustered with the compliment, her smile falters as a dozen memories come and try ruin her mood.

_“Your voice would be more beautiful if you scream for mercy.”_

_“How much will it take for you to sing for me?”_

_“You’re nothing but a slut and a whore.”_

“I…”, she blinks back to the present, her body shaking and quivering, tears clouding her vision.

“Shanghai?”, a tentative voice asks, and she looks up at Imsi, who’s now done with what he was cooking. “Are you all right?”

She slowly stares up at Imsi, whose face was once again full of concern and worry. She nods, a little more shakily.

“Did… I say something that triggered your past?”

The way he says it, like he cares more about her welfare than his own, makes her want to reveal the truth about herself even more.

She simply nods.

She feels someone carefully wrap his hands around her. “I… I’m so sorry.”

Instead of fighting and pushing him away from her, she slowly accepts the embrace, burying her face into his chest, the smell of roses enthralling her.

(Lunch was also just as quiet as breakfast, the only thing that is different is the hot weather around the house.)

“Why is she still here?”, Minguk asks as he arrives home, taking his shoes off and putting his bag on one of the sofas, glaring hard at Shanghai, who is once again fidgeting in her seat. Imsi looks up from his work to glare at his nephew, but it is more tiring.

“Minguk, please”, he sighs, “give her some respect. She is more than just a suspicious individual.”

He groans as he goes to his room to sulk, closing the door behind him.

“I really should have left a while ago, then”, Shanghai says softly, sighing sadly. “I’m sorry, again.”

“It’s okay. Minguk is never really fond of visitors. Don’t worry, once he gets to know you better he’ll warm up on you.”

Shanghai nods, knowing Minguk not trusting her easily is reasonable and she would not trust the family if she wasn’t so desperate in hiding herself from Teikoku. Speaking of which, she should think of a plan on how to get her friends - no, sisters - out of the brothel, wanting nothing but to see Teikoku dead at her feet. She wants to know if she could sneak inside of the brothel once again, and meet the officer who had freed her so that he and she would break her sisters out, away from the life of exploiting their bodies and into a life together, forever and ever.

She looks back at Imsi, who is once again doing his work.

“Do you like working?”, she speaks up.

He looks at her with those dark brown eyes, a hint of grieving and sadness in them, “Yeah. I really like working. It helps me relax, to be honest.”

Shanghai tilts her head, “There are other ways to relax, so why choose working as a way of relaxation?”

He gives her a small look that does not hint indignance or irritation, but the sadness in his eyes grows larger, too much that she worries he might succumb to it. “It’s the only way that can keep my mind distracted, long enough for me to help the inner workings of my brain relax. When I’m doing nothing, I think of horrible thoughts.”

She can feel her interest perk up further, as she leans further from the couch. “What kind of horrible thoughts?”

He didn’t say, which is good, because if he did say anything then that means she must say something about her in return, which was bad.

The thing about Imsi is that he gives himself away more often than keeping to himself; just the other day he was busily talking to himself in a torn bathrobe, almost looking a decade old, pacing back and forth, dark hair that is usually kept wild and not that kept. He was muttering about how it was the day where ‘she’ went missing, where ‘she’ was taken by ‘him’. When Shanghai fully comes out of her room, he stops pacing around and gives her a small but awkward smile.

“Why are you wearing a filthy bathrobe?”, she asks.

“Why are _you_ awake at 5 in the morning?”, he replies, before shrugging. “A force of habit, especially today.”

(The first thing she learns about Imsi is that he answers her question honestly- a little too vague but he had made things clear: he can’t keep secrets of himself.)

The next day, she had gotten up early once again, a nightmare shaking up her very core (she couldn’t remember what it was about but she knows men were touching her again), and Imsi was there, with a glass of water and a concerned expression on his face. He was like a doctor, that man… too much of a doctor.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah- no, not really.” She tries to lie, but she does a complete 180 and tells him how she really truly feels, as if his genuinely concerned voice and worrying expression is enough to break the ice between them and to enter a favourable friendship.

“Bad dream again?”

She nods, choking back a sob, feeling her insides twist and churn with melancholy and grieving. The past will always catch up to her, no matter how many times she runs from the past and into the present like it was a human being, hunting her, catching her and succeeding ultimately, as the past forces her to watch the painful memories of her and her sisters being placed in the brothel, one by one, nothing else really mattering.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t answer, because that is what always happens- she ignores his worried face as she closes her eyes, trying to remember what Nanjing and Ryukyu looks like; even the others who didn’t have the luck to be here with her, free but confined in the house.

(The second thing about Imsi is that he doesn’t seem to leave someone helpless or crying or sobbing or shouting or basically having bad feelings. And that also applies to himself. He’ll comfort every single one of them until they are free from sadness.)

Shanghai surprisingly wakes up not from dreams the next day, but from shouting.

She peeks her head out of the door, the sounds of the voices growing louder. It seems Imsi was berating Minguk again. For what, she doesn’t know.

“You shouldn’t have been wearing it while asleep!”, the sound of Imsi’s voice somewhat calming her down, but it is an octave too high for her liking, and she hopes to herself that she wouldn’t face an angry Imsi in the future.

“I forgot to take it off and that’s it, _samchon_!”, she could just ~~_feel_~~ Minguk rolling her eyes, because he has that energy (who’s to say he’s doing it now?).

And now she can also feel Imsi shaking his head disappointedly. “Minguk, I’m sorry to say this but you won’t be wearing your binder today.”

A pause, then-

“What the fu- _samchon_ please! I have a tutor coming today and I’m not wearing anything other than my binder!”

Imsi just clicks his tongue, “Minguk, I know you, but sometimes you go overboard with wearing your binder. Please, for your sake and mine. I just want what’s best for you.”

“Why do I feel like what’s best for me isn’t the best?”, Minguk asks through sniffles, which is something out of the ordinary, as it seems that the boy with no feelings actually has and just has the difficulty in explaining them.

“I’m so sorry, Minguk. But you were having trouble breathing in your sleep. I love you, your mother loves you, your brother loves you.”

And now Minguk is full-on crying, rain coming down in a dry terrain, with Imsi whispering comforting and soothing words in his ear.

She meets the tutor soon enough, his presence in the same room as her making her blood run cold. He reminded her of him too much so to consider escaping. She drops her books from shock when he enters the house, looking all damp and cold from the rain outside, as a rundown of memories start torturing her, from the cold and wicked grin, the crimson red eyes swirling with madness and the cold, always cold hands pinning her to the walls or bed, as she stops squirming and just disassociates.

“Teikoku?”, she had said in a small voice, as he turned to look at her, with clear grey eyes, a parting storm.

 _Not_ Teikoku.

But enough to make her feel vulnerable and helpless again, and now Imsi knows who she truly is, but defends her in every single way against America, who is spitting out the real truth; that she was a dirty whore who was too far away from home.

“You don’t like me anymore, do you?”, Shanghai asks after dinner time, as Imsi carries out a tray of teacups and a teapot standing tall and proud in the center. He sits down from across her and tilts his head.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because…” she chokes a little, looking away from Imsi. “I’m a whore.”

He shakes his head. “No. No you’re not. No one is a whore first. You are a brilliant woman who had been unfortunately taken by Teikoku like the bastard he is. So no, you’re not a whore, and don’t you ever call yourself that.”

“You seem to have a lot more confidence in me than myself.”

He meets her eyes, sad and defensive, “It’s what I do, to make everyone feel better. I love them for what they are, I hate them for what they are.”

“But why like me rather than hate me?”

“Because it will kill me to hate someone like you.”

(They talk about how green tea is their favourite flavour of tea right after.)

Imsi treats her the same way he treats her after the incident; always giving her a second look, treating her as a functioning object rather than a broken one - thankfully - and Minguk seems to be giving her a chance as well. Imsi seems to love hearing her talk, hearing her ramble more and more about the general public and politics and opinions with no break in her voice; as if he was more invested in hearing her voice than his.

And that was - in her point of view - enlightening her. He does not treat her as a toy meant to be broken, rather than someone who needs help and is helping her in the most discreet of ways, but he still is accompanying her through some hard times.

“I like you”, she says one day, as Imsi types in his laptop, and he looks up, his face tinged with red.

“I like you too”, he replies, softer and silent. “You’re a good friend.”

She nods, “You are too.”

He snorts, “I’m a crap friend. I’m never good for anything.”

“But you helped me overcome my fears- not all, but some.”

He gives her a small smile, “It’s what I do; help people feel happy and confident about themselves.”

“Do _you_ feel confident?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time, before saying,

“No.”

She can feel something in her that turns her into a fiery woman she once was back then. “ _Je bent een zelfverzekerd persoon_.” She never thought she still has the expertise to talk in a language she had never exercised in the brothels, but it seems that her skills have just been pressed aside into her mind as she thinks of ways on how to survive.

He stares up at her, failure in his eyes. “ _Tu no sabes eso_.”

Shanghai snorts, “You say that I am a smart person- so of course I know if you’re confident or not.”

Imsi stares back at the keyboard, despondent. “I’m a failure.”

“Why?”

“I just am.”

Maybe that is what hurt her about Imsi the most.

One day, Imsi and Shanghai are now in the backyard, sipping tea on the porch as she stares at the butterflies that are ravaging the peonies.

“Tell me more about her.”

“Who?”

“Nabi.”

“You know her.”

“I know her only as one of us, but not as a mother.”

Imsi nods, getting her drift. “Nabi was… sweet and kind. She’d get flustered and red at any kinds of comments, she’s always there to comfort either me or my twin brother. The one who’d become her husband one day. She is also quite fragile, but we don’t use that much to our advantage. Jeguk was quite protective of her, like any husband who loves his wife very much. Especially at how young she gave birth too.”

“How old was she when she gave birth to her sons?” Nabi talks about her sons all the time when she and the others are being left alone by men who prey on them; she seems quite attached, like Nanjing is to Taiwan.

“Sixteen.” He says it so simply, like it is no surprise that Nabi had borne two sons at a young age.

Shanghai’s eyes grow wide, “ _Sixteen_?!”

“An accident in my brother’s part, really; when he found out she was pregnant he underwent an anxiety attack since our father wanted him to continue our legacy. In the end I told him who he would choose if our dad is out of the picture, and he chose Nabi. They were inseparable, those two.” There was a hint of sadness, and now Shanghai is thinking of Nabi and her husband holding hands… Nabi cradling her children while singing a lullaby… Nabi, being full and rich of life.

She wants to know what happened to Nabi when she was happy. When they were all happy.

“How did your dad react?”

Imsi shakes his head. “Not good; he and Jeguk argued and disowned my brother.”

“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s fine.” He doesn’t look fine, as his eyes are clouding over with memories once again, memories of a life where everything was easier and that everything was fake but real, nonetheless. There was a searching in his eyes, wanting to see the person that completes his heart once again, as brothers, as friends in a lifetime. He wipes a stray tear that escaped away from his face, as he turns to smile at Shanghai, wanting to forget that he is indeed sad at how his life had turned out more than he will ever reveal. “More tea?”

She nods. “More tea, please.”

They enjoy the afternoon together, just the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dangsin-ui maeneoneun dangsin-eul tteonassseubnida- your manners have left you
> 
> Joseong haeyo- i’m sorry
> 
> Gamsahabnida- thank you
> 
> je bent een zelfverzekerd persoon- you’re a confident person
> 
> Tu no sabes eso- you don’t know that


	10. We Are The Helpless, Selfish, One of A Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name Guide:  
> Koku Nippon- Japan  
> Teikoku Nippon- Japan Empire  
> Choson Inmin- North Korea  
> Tengri-

“I never really saw you with glasses before”, America states, as she visits the Nippon household because she still can’t abandon her faux job even though she wants to quit. She munches on an apple (that she stole from the kitchen) as she stares at Koku who is busily answering another one of his worksheets.

He doesn’t give her a satisfaction of a response- instead he shoves his nose down the worksheet, even going as far as crumpling a few papers frustratingly (he had been doing this the past few days, it seems). He swears under his breath, as he starts to write once again, not sparing America a single glance- which hurts her, really, but she tries not to feel anything, because even Koku himself has had a rough few days.

(When she comes back to this grievance of a job, Koku tells her they aren’t going to do anything else other than sit around all day. When she asked why, he grumbled something about his brother - she hopes it’s an insult - before going back to his studies.)

The entire room is silent, and America lies on his bed while he does his ‘tiresome’ and ‘stress-inducing’ (what a mood, honestly) and she can feel her entire insides crumbling and softening due to the fact that boredom is gnawing at her in the most effective of ways. She misses the outside, she misses that soft look Koku would give her all the time (not because she likes him, of course; it was because he was one of the few people who ever looked at her  _ that _ way), and she misses their escapades together. She doesn’t want to be in this - lonely - cursed house, especially with that man roaming around.

But her job here isn’t to play bodyguard, she reminds herself- her real job is to spy on Teikoku, get as much evidence as she can on what he was planning. She steels herself and gets up from the bed, staring at Koku’s back, who was still engrossed in his work. She clears her throat, ultimately making him snap to attention like he was a twig being snapped.

He turns to face her, glasses glinting in the sunlight in front of him, raising an eyebrow at his bodyguard.

“May I roam around the house?”, she asks nicely, hoping he wouldn’t count it as suspicious. Luckily, without a word, he nods at her, and goes back to his work, like she was air all around him. Furrowing her brow, her insides churning, she exits his room in search of Teikoku’s office.

(Something inside her tells her that Koku doesn’t like to be around her anymore- she shuts that part of her down.)

America can’t remember where Teikoku’s office is, and her brain starts to scold her as she goes from door to door, trying to find the right hallway, since every single one of the hallways she look into are so identical she thinks they were taunting her, eyes everywhere as the cameras around the walls turn to face her direction, knowing she’s plotting something, but before she can move again, however, there is a slight tugging sensation on her pants, and she looks down to find Palau with a sturdy grip on her, a wide smile on her face.

(There is something about that smile, something that made her feel as if she had seen it before.)

Palau’s tugging is soft and insistent- meaning it must be something urgent, but with that smile it is hard for America to discern if she wants something or needs something.

“What is it?”, she tries asking nicely- her patience is running out, and her mission is in shambles because everyone now depends on her, on their boss, to solve this mystery taking place deep inside the mob. She has no time for games teenagers play (she honestly keeps forgetting Teikoku’s daughter in front of her is a fifteen year-old girl).

“ _ Please _ come to my room.” Her tone is insistent and persuasive- more like a child than a functioning and pubescent teenager, who is supposed to be moody, but she’s not.

(Or perhaps she is hiding all her feelings inside her- which is not healthy but at the same time America does it as well, so she doesn’t really blame her. She must have been keeping her anger against her father in check, which is wise as that bastard never really liked people who speak up to him in a grounding manner.)

America has no time for what Palau wants her to do, “Sorry kid, but I gotta run a few errands for your uncle.”

Palau bites her lip, dejected, which is honestly getting into her nerves because she has a weakness for people looking like they need and want pity- so she sighs, giving in to her inner voice which is now swirling around her like a whirlpool wanting to submerge her into the water, drowning her with guilt and playing the image of Palau’s dejected look, who must’ve been looking for someone to play with.

(‘ _ Look at her. Wasn’t that how you felt when your father or brothers can’t - or refuse - to play with you? Spend time with you? No wonder why you’re so lonely- _ ’)

She shuts out her inner voice, as she looks at the girl in front of her with a smile. “Sure. What do you want me to do?” She only smiles in reply, which also twinkles with delight (and familiarity to America) and now she is yanking on her arm like an eager little girl who has not yet been exposed to the entire world, and she lets her.

A few minutes later, America is sitting tentatively on Palau’s bed, still bored but at the very least the sounds of currents washing into the shores are stroking her ears like they are eels swimming in circles around her, while Palau is on her laptop, busily typing.

America couldn’t quell her curiosity much longer, so she takes her headphones off - no matter how relaxing it is to hear the ocean - and turns to stare at Palau, who looks so serene she doesn’t want to disturb her peace.

“Palau, I really have to get going.”  _ The files can’t move all by themselves, you know _ . She immediately turns to face her (America cringes on how she might’ve snapped her neck at such speed), her eyes now wild with fear and desperation.

“No- please- you can’t go now”, she follows America and blocks her way out the door, and she reaches into her pockets to take her gun once she feels threatened. “I really like you, Miss America, and I’ve wanted to talk to you from the very start. But because of your short time and you following  _ Ojisan _ like a lapdog-” (America purses her lips at the way she phrases it) “so I didn’t have the time - and social skills - to approach you!” She presses her back against the wall further, like a prey now being cornered by its predator except it’s in reverse.

The bodyguard can feel her growing pity for the girl- it must have been hard not to have someone to socialise with, with her estranged siblings and abusive father looming over her, stretching her patience beyond all means before she can fully grasp at the reality she is not the only one suffering around Teikoku.

“Please”, she sobs, as her eyes start to spill tears from the inner depths of her. “I-I’m going to get married soon-”

America hones in on her last sentence, “Wait a minute, you’re getting  _ married _ ?”

She nods- and with her trembling hands she raises up her left ring finger; a lone golden ring lies round her finger, imprisoning it with a golden yet firm grip, a sign that she is forever bound to someone who wanted her, who desired her. Maybe she wanted the marriage too, but judging from her face, she doesn't want anything to do with who she’s marrying, just by the sheer panic and fear written across her face.

(Somewhere in America’s mind, she supplies she has seen the same ring before…)

Palau lets out a sigh, a sigh of warmth and dreaming, long and soft, “He was so handsome, you know? Taking me into a beautiful restaurant like he was a storybook prince who came to life…” Her dreaming and foggy-eyed face then morph into a dark and grim frown, her golden eyes once kindling with life is snuffed out. “Then he started making advances on me- advances I didn’t want. But he kept me distracted with that charming smile, of course. It made me melt, but his touches- they kept on going and going, until he distracted me enough to put something in my drink.” She shoves her face into her hands, shaking.

America has no comment, her lips locked into a thin line, as she stares at the now sobbing girl in front of her- she doesn’t know how to comfort her, only awkwardly standing there, trying to find a way to comfort Palau, who has been touched in such a young age, _like_ _that_. So, she kneels in front of the girl, and wraps her arms around her, putting her lips on the girl’s sweat-covered forehead, feeling a maternal instinct deep inside her.

(‘ _ You were her age too, you know- except rather than getting married you had a kid. A kid you never saw again because of your dad _ .’)

“Palau? Look at me.” She looks up at America, golden eyes still shining with tears, and the older woman wipes away the stray tears on her cheeks. Gold and green intermix, the moon and forest dancing in the stars together. “It wasn’t right of your dad to force you to marry the one who assaulted you.”

She shakes, “But- but, he said he loves me-”

“Just because some people told you they love you, doesn’t mean it’s sincere and genuine. Sometimes people… don’t love you back - which is hard - but you got to remember the people who really,  _ truly _ love you.”

“Do  _ you _ love me?”

She bites her lip, her mind trying to formulate a good answer to the question- of course not, her mind replies first; you don’t even know her. You barely even interact with her. Be honest, even if it hurts her. Then her heart tells her that she should tell Palau that she loves her, because even if she doesn’t truly know her, it will mean something to the other girl.

(‘ _ In all your life, you had the love of your brothers and friends ever since you grew up, while she doesn’t have anyone. What will you do _ ?’)

She gives Palau a small smile, the fireplace around her heart lighting up, “I don’t know you that well, Palau, but if we can learn more of each other, then I’ll learn to love you.”

The girl, the promised, the engaged, gives her a small smile of understanding- hoping that the two would become best friends in the future, and something in America’s heart sinks, remembering why she is here in the first place; her smile grows wider, conquering her entire face.

“I think I’m starting to like you already”, the younger girl replies, then perks up, “Oh- would you accompany me to the aquariums?”

The older blinks, “You have an  _ aquarium _ ?  _ Plural _ ?”   
  


And another few minutes later, they were at the basement (or ‘ _ Aquarium Room _ ’, as Palau put it)), with America following a skipping Palau - who was giddily hopping and humming a song, her feet light - as she gazes at the blue hue the aquariums’ waters reflect across the walls, and appropriately soft blue light giving them the pathway. The blue light that echo soundlessly around the place gives her the vibe that she is  _ actually _ in the deep blue sea, and not in some basement that has loads of aquariums stuck together to create a hallucination of the sea.

(She wonders what the fish were thinking, every time she sees them aimlessly swimming in circles- she thinks it’s a hobby, but she can see the misery in the fish’ eyes, like they are doomed to swim caged for the rest of their life.)

“How the hell did Teikoku buy all these…”, she mutters to herself, as she comes face-to-face with a  _ stingray _ (technically not face-to-face as the animal was lying on the ground, resting… but still); she jerks back a little- before remembering this must be evidence, as she takes her phone out and starts to take a picture.

“My dad is an esteemed animal rights activist”, the girl in front of her explains, as she takes a peek at the huge  _ great white _ swimming in one of the largest aquariums, looking more like a water park than an aquarium in a basement. The great white - however - doesn’t seem to notice the two newcomers, lazily doing somersaults in the air like it’s the only thing it could do, no sign of its famed predatory gaze anywhere.

She stares at the great white, her lips curling- she heard her brother say that great whites don’t often last long in captivity, and as she looks at the elegant creature, it occurs to her that he might die any second, his entire lifespan dropping from captivity. She can see it in its eyes too- dead and apathetic.

(“The longest great white shark in captivity had only lived for one-hundred and ninety-eight days”, Canada’s voice echoed in her mind, “great whites don’t often live that long when captive.”)

America looks back at the younger girl, humming as she waves a greeting to all the dead-eyed fishes- seemingly unaware that they want to die, they want to live in the seas and oceans where they are free to roam and swim, and not cramped in a cage with others, vying for space and power.

She wonders if Palau is aware that sometimes all the wonders of the world can’t be imprisoned in a cramped space, that she can only marvel at them from afar.

They hear the door opening, and in comes Koku, looking like he had stepped into a storm and returned unscathed, indestructible against the strong winds; he looks tired, grey eyes drooping and general posture bending over to the desire of sleep- and then he snaps himself awake as he looks around and finds the two girls at the centre. He raises a brow at America.

“I thought you were roaming around?”, he says, fixing his glasses a little.

America shrugs, “Your niece was lonely so I decided to give her company.”

Koku chuckles, like he was finding the whole thing funny, his grey eyes averting from them to face a wall where only blue lights exist, “Yes, ‘ _ company _ ’... in this disturbing room full of trafficked animals.”

Palau’s face changes- her golden eyes dilate, something America has never seen before, then parting her lips to speak, “They’re  _ not _ trafficked or stolen! Dad saved them from poachers and brought them all here until the law arrives!”

Her uncle blinks for a moment, his grey eyes giving himself denial, trying to come up with words- and then his grey eyes dilate, considering her words. “...You’re right, how can I have said that?” The words sounded…  _ genuine _ , no hint of sarcasm nor malice, like he had actually done something wrong and was now righting the wrong.

The bodyguard tilts her head, sensing something is wrong with the both of them- from their movements to their eyes, like someone is now controlling their decisions and answers to their own statements and questions; a mind of their own, except not really.

Koku gives them both a small smile, his grey eyes twinkling with no warmth or feeling in them, like he was devoid of his feelings- no sign of the warm looks he gives America, or the irritated and huffy looks he gives her whenever she does something that doesn’t go with his perspective of the world, or those playful and endearing looks…

To be frank, he doesn’t seem like  _ her _ Koku at all.

(Did she just refer to him as  _ hers _ ? If so, that will now be engraved in her mind forever and will come up every time her brain has nothing to give her.)

He turns to America- and suddenly the entire world locks into place, the world revolving once again, Koku’s eyes going back to normal (and so do Palau’s), his eyes giving her that warm look she knows so well, the sun cuddling her with its rays. It turns sheepish, as Koku himself shifts awkwardly from his seat, biting his lip.

“Sorry about ignoring you the whole day”, he says, “it’s just… Teikoku’s making me do extra work after the fiasco, and- well.. I’m sorry.”

America sighs, giving her a small smile, feeling the man in front of her fluster a little at the sight of it, “It’s fine, it gave me time to hang out with you cool niece.”

Palau gasps, her golden eyes twinkling, “You think I’m cool?”

“Hell yeah.”

Koku clicks his tongue, “Meri, language.”

She swivels to him, cheeks reddening, her mind scolding her for losing composure (‘ _ It was just a nickname! _ ’), before giving him a light smirk. “C’mon, I think you’re niece would know a few  _ exotic _ words.”

“If she learned from you, I will burn your tongue.”

America raises a brow- not threatened, just amused. “Oh? With what?”

He mumbles, “ _ Watashi no shita _ ”, (she has no idea what that means), before looking at her with a shifty-eyed look, “With fire.”

She scoffs, and Palau chuckles. “More like  _ I’ll _ burn you.”

He gives her a look- “I’d like to see you try.”

She gives him a small and playful smirk- he returns one with a general warmer and comforting look, the tiredness gone from his face in a matter of seconds; like she was his charger, like one look from her can change his demeanor completely.

-

“For the love of god, Meri, stop touching that.”

Koku looks at her disapprovingly - like a father, she thinks - crossing his arms as she continually puts a finger on Teikoku’s portrait in one of the hallways (she can’t remember  _ which _ hallway they are on- all look so identical), smirking while she does so. She should be doing her job- but in the end she found this funny-looking portrait of the bastard in the halls- he looks so stern and cross it makes her laugh rather than be intimidated.

“Who’s going to stop me from poking fun?  _ You _ ?” She chuckles a little, “You’ve been standing there all frowning but you haven’t even stopped me physically.”

He sighs again- this time deeper and louder, letting go of his stress on dealing with America. “Come on, let’s go to the gardens.”

She raises a brow, her entertainment now deflated at the thought of following Koku around the room again, before she glimpses on a darker hallway- lights flickering on and off, walls peeling the paint off like it had enough, and one lone door at the end of the hallway, silently waiting, watching for someone to enter its doors towards the other side, whatever it may be.

She can feel and hear the door calling to her, wanting to whisper all of its secrets to those willing to hear, willing to do everything to learn of Teikoku’s secrets.

She steps back to tug on Koku’s sleeve like a child to get his attention, and points at the door.

“What’s behind that?”

He follows her finger towards the door, a door to the dead and a door to the chamber of secrets- his grey eyes widen in fear, his eyes reflecting death and madness. He tugs at America’s arm, away from the hallway, glaring at her. “You’re not allowed in there,  _ no one _ is, other than my brothers.”

Her eyes glint in satisfaction- she knows which brothers Koku was talking about, and she ought to interrogate one or the other (obviously, Tokyo, she is not touching Teikoku). “Alright.”

“You’re not going in there, are you?”

She laughs, “Absolutely not.”

He raises a brow in amusement, “I don’t believe you.”

She shrugs, a smile decorating her face, “I don’t believe me either.”

Koku gives her a smile- sincere and warm, “I really like you, America.”

Something inside her chest blooms, a flower in the spring, waiting for someone to pluck it from its stem.

(Her brain tells - scolds - her for getting too close to Koku, and now she second-handedly thinks of him every second her mind is blank- the end of the world is coming.)

“I think you’re cool.”

(Part of her wants to take it back- that he is beyond ‘cool’ and she also likes him too, just not in  _ that _ way - she hopes that what he said is platonic - and she liked being her friend; but his smile tells her it makes him feel better about himself.)

They were now strolling the gardens, hands brushing each other’s, tempting to touch and entwine their fingers, as America looked at the familiar - but eye catching - plants in the gardens, trying to ignore his body, close to her, their hands nearly touching.

(Something in her wants to join their fingers together, but she shuts that thought down.)

“Thanks for giving me a few days off, Koku”, America says, as she stares at the butterflies lounging around the gardens, searching for nectar.

He gives her a look, “You deserve it.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, the both of them looking anywhere but each other- like it was taboo for the both of them to stare into each other. The garden still looks like Eden in real life, its colours flitting around as trees sway with the winds, flowers facing the sun as butterflies tear their petals apart. Sometimes she thinks the comforting feeling isn’t comforting at all- it can hinder her and distract her from her thoughts.

Koku seems to hate the silence and how it makes him uncomfortable- he parts his mouth to speak. “What did you do the last few days?”

She thinks of a lie- even if he won’t know who she truly is, she has to be cautious not to talk much, only scrape at the ice covering the frozen lake- she doesn’t want to fall down to the freezing lake and drown. There is something in his looks that wants her to vomit out the truth- whatever it may be, something inside her urges her to tell him tales that will span on and on, but something - good - stops her.

“I just spent time with my brothers”, she replies simply- vague, but an applicable answer. “You?”

He huffed a laugh, “Answering worksheets my brother made me do.” His eyes turn sadder, his entire body seemingly wilting like flowers once no one waters them. “Sometimes, I wish I had a family.”

America turns to Koku, “But… you have one, though.”

He creases his brow- like he dislikes the suggestion that Tokyo, Palau, Hokkaido, Okinawa and Teikoku aren’t his family, and merely acquaintances and people he interacts with in his entire life. There was something in his eyes; stormy clouds over an old memory, about to rain down. He turns away from her (like she was a hindrance, a nuisance to his own thoughts), a downcast look playing on his face.

“My only family”, his voice was small, a growing thunder, “was my mother.”

Thunder growls around the garden, the storm arriving. She frowns at the sight of Koku- so despondent, so weak, vulnerable to his own storm, looming overhead.

His mother…?

Who was his mother?

America remembers that Australia and New Zealand told her about Koku’s family - from Tokugawa to Okinawa - but it was far from her mind, a memory that fails to surface, as she racks her brain back and forth to what was Koku’s mother’s name- he wasn’t entirely Teikoku’s brother (a shock, to everybody, she supposes), but his mother… his mother’s name starts with a ‘K’, right?

A light bulb turns on her forehead, her entire face lighting up, as she gasps.

“Kyoto”, she whispers underneath her breath- supposedly low enough for Koku to understand, low for him to hear, but he turns to her, knowing full well what she said.

“How do you know my mother’s name?”, he asks, facing her, his stare, a pistol being aimed at her head in an odd angle. “I’ve never told you her name before.”

Now she was a deer in the headlights- her palms are sweaty, her forehead is covered with sweat, as her pores produce more to further make this confrontation unbearing to handle. She has had a case of sweaty palms before (her father summoning her to his room for god-knows-what, the parties that her father had hosted in which she met the man who used her body, trying to hide the baby as she bites her lip and starts to cry, the pain of childbirth, and the mob bosses, their eyes mocking her); she bites her lip, trying to find a way out of this.

Part of her wants to tell Koku the truth- that she was a good-for-nothing spy for the police department to find some grand evidence where Teikoku is a criminal - which he technically  _ is _ \- but she knows she had no match against him, against anyone, so she shakes her head, trying to keep her thoughts collected, wanting to make a quick response.

“Heard your brother talking about her”, she says simply, locking stares with him, “insulting her to no end.”

She can see Koku’s jaw tighten, his posture suddenly straight, coming alive from her lie- he seems to hate people who try to give his own mother names and profanities.

(‘ _ He reminds me of- well- you. _ ’)

Then he deflates- the storm calming as it dissolves into the clouds, gone for the meantime, his resolution fading once again, no evidence of his energy and will to defend his own mother’s name, a mother, a woman who is no more, a ghost, a name fluttering through the winds, waiting for someone to speak her name so she can come to life and flit everywhere and nowhere, an existence without a home.

Koku gives her a smile - deflated, lacking the warmth but it was still there - before once again parting his lips to speak. “You know, I’m sorry I told you they weren’t my family- it’s just… the fact that I don’t have her anymore- I mean I haven’t had her for several years but-” he chokes back a sob, his grey eyes shining with regret, “I wish she was still here, you know?”

His bodyguard looks up at him, as she curls her lips with sadness- like they both share the same pain. “I’m… sorry.”

He gives her a small look, “It’s fine, no worries.”

(Of course, he wasn’t really fine.)

  
  


Tokyo writhes underneath her arm, as she suffocates his head with his own pillow, gritting her teeth tightly, her body pressed up against his.

(He was getting ready for bed earlier than the others- without catching the cameras’ and his attention, she swiftly swoops in his room and jumps at him, fresh from the bath.)

“You- bitch-”, he gasps underneath America, his purple eyes reflecting hatred, trying to kick her from underneath but her legs are over his, crushing his own legs. She lets out a growl as she continues to gain the upperhand, trying to decrease the exhaust and stress from her body, now that she has one of them beneath her.

Then he stops struggling- she fears she might have died (not ‘fear’, ‘anxious’- if Teikoku finds out she’s killed his brother then he will stop at  _ nothing _ ) but she looks down and sees the younger of the Nippon brothers glaring up at her, still being suffocated by the pillow.

She musters her voice- trying to find the right tone to use for him (a seductive tone is always worth it for men like him) and right words (‘what’s inside that room?’). Her green eyes give him a glint, as she leans down until their lips are centimetres apart (she’ll use that when she gets desperate for answers), his body still, giving himself entirely to her.

“Tokyo,  _ dear _ ”, she says, emphasising the pet name, wanting his full attention, and it works- his entire body goes slack, as he firmly averts his gaze from her. She leans down, deeper, until her lips are on his ear, “I want to ask you a question.” She tries to sound enthralling, enticing, wanting to get the man below her as riled up as possible. Warmth touches his cheeks, and she smirks.

(Always such a good way to get information- even if she feels tainted and unclean afterwards.)

She pulls herself up, being sure she rubs the right section in his body, wanting him to feel like he’s leading  _ her _ on; but it was in reverse, and she gives him that flattering smile all men want to see. One of her legs breaks formation - but the captive’s legs are still tight underneath one - as her fingers glide up and down Tokyo’s face, caressing his cheek slightly, teasing him.

“All right”, he croaks out, a voice of a prepubescent boy’s, “what do you want to know?”

She dips down once again, the entirety of her body pressing up against his (something tells her this was wrong, that even the fingers touching her feel wrong, an error), as her breath mixes with his, the both of them looking at each other like it’s the end of the world.

(Even his warmth is wrong; a fallacy.)

“What’s behind that room?”, she asks, cool and collected, purposefully rubbing on his arousal, “with the flickering lights.”

He bites his lower lip, trying to keep his cool - he’s failing - as he looks at her chest, purposefully showing what he wants to see, then back at her, looking so innocent and calm, doing this a million times before. “All of Teikoku’s treasures- he keeps them in there, all his pseudo-possessions just… lying in there. Even old portraits of the oldest of the old Nippon family are there, silently waiting with caution.”

She raises a brow, “What kind of treasures?”

His eyes change- no longer desiring her form nor her voice, but the flustered face changes, “You want to know, ‘ _ bodyguard _ ’? Well I’m not telling.”

She glares at him, “Tell me after I do this.”

Before he can reply - or grasp at what was happening - her lips collide with his, cherry red lipstick smearing the pale lips of the boy below her, as she pulls at his collar, unbuttoning his suit, as his own hands navigate her body, enticed by her curves, as he attempts to reverse their position, but she holds on tightly to his wrists as her legs shackle his once again. She rubs harder on his arousal, and he moans into the kiss.

(Again, she thinks that this is wrong, that this isn’t meant to be- once again, she shuts that part of her brain down; this is her  _ job _ , not a one-night stand.)

Once there is no more air to breathe, she breaks the kiss, a trail of saliva following her (she feels disgusted, once again feeling this isn’t meant to be). “Now, will you tell me?”

Tokyo stares at her for a moment, before surrendering, “Everything in that room is all the files of the prostitutes from the brothels, every endangered animal he sold off to trafficking, captivity, or has killed, hitlists and targets, his own gang members, and of course… his deepest thoughts.”

America gives him a small triumphant smirk, “Thanks.”

Wordlessly, she gets up, her thick blonde hair brushing onto her body, as she leaves him behind, cheeks flushed. Meanwhile, her inner voice was scolding her, telling her why she had done that, what had she done, why.

(‘ _ Maybe Teikoku is right about you- you  _ **_are_ ** _ a slut _ .’)

She blinked back tears- why was she crying over this? It’s not like she hasn’t done something as atrocious and scandalous as this before.

When she goes back to Koku- has been hunched over his desk for the past few hours (perhaps trying not to sleep, when she glimpses at the cup of coffee by his side), over the lamp light, it was to say goodbye, now that her duty has been fulfilled that day. When she closes the door, he turns to look at her, his eyes drooping with obvious exhaustion plastered on his face.

Then he sees her face- lonely green eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and quivering lips, and he suddenly seems alert, as he stands from his chair to approach his bodyguard, colour staining her cheeks.

“Are you alright?” The concern he shows for her somehow makes her sick- she didn’t want his pity, he didn’t want her worrying over her all the time and always, how his grey eyes make her feel like the entire world is watching her. “What happened?”

Choking back a sob, she stares straight at Koku’s eyes, trying not to give him the satisfaction that she’s crying over making out with Tokyo- the softness of his lips wrong, the caves of his mouth wrong, even the body and touches underneath her is wrong.

“I’m fine”, she replies testily - she holds back a sniffle - “I’m sorry I scared you like that.”

He furrows his brow - clearly not buying it - yet instead of going back to his work, with a pull, he pulls her into a hug, taking all of her breath away. His arms were the right warmth- his breath around the nape of her neck melting her, as her body is pressed up to his. Then he breaks away, and the warmth is gone, but some stayed, deep in her heart.

(She stills her beating heart, waiting for lips to touch her own- that only happened once - twice - in the night.)

“I wish I can give you something more than that”, he confesses, “but I think that comforted you- in my own way.”

She wants to thank him, really; but a part of her also doesn’t want to, not having the energy to speak.

“I’m angry”, she declares, as she places her feet on her desk, lighting up a cigarette.

(It’s been a few days since she had lit up a cigarette stick- she misses the way it relieves her of her stress temporarily, before her stress topples her over.)

Canada’s eyes travel to her glare, “I can see it.”

“Why are you angry?”, Australia asks.

The question angers her even more- she had no reason to be angry, she just  _ is _ . “I just am.”

“Did something happen in Teikoku’s home?”, New Zealand quips.

Their sister throws up her arms - a useless way to exaggerate her feelings - as a wisp of smoke escapes her lips and fades into the night air. “I just- everyone in that disturbing house drives me crazy. Teikoku being an asshole; me making out with Tokyo for answers; Palau showing me a basement full of captive aquatic life forms; and Koku giving me stupid  _ feelings  _ even though I didn’t ask or  _ want _ to have!”

Her brothers all freeze at the last sentence, as Canada gets up from his chair. He raises a brow at America- something he usually does when he thinks something shouldn’t be real, and it better be fake.

“‘Feelings’?”, he repeats, crossing his arms, “what kind of feelings?”

America scoffs, “He’s giving me all these mixed signals and conflicting feelings okay? Like he could be talking about this… ‘ _ friendship _ ’ thing we have going on-” she puts air quotes around the word ‘friendship’, as she believes it doesn’t (and shouldn’t) exist- “and basically him making me… feel like he shouldn’t die, he doesn’t deserve the same fate as Teikoku.”

No one speaks for a while- silence is fragile, as she glances at each of her brother’s faces; Canada was tapping his fingers on his desk, his stare intensifying; New Zealand was busily texting someone (she feels like he’s texting Luxembourg- that man is clingy as hell too and has interrupted their meetings a dozen times); and Australia, with his red cheeks and playful smile crawling on his face- is calling Villers.

“America”, Canada breaks the silence first - he frequently does that - his green eyes (his eyes were lighter than hers- instead of a forest green, it was an emerald green) glowing obscure energy, “I think Koku is still playing you. Now you’re trusting him. What’s to say he isn’t faking being unaware of Teikoku’s crimes? Critiquing his own mistakes? Look, I’m sorry to put this in a harsh way but: Koku will turn you into a foggy-eyed fool.”

America wants to scream in defense to Koku- want to tell her brothers that he was an intelligent and sophisticated young man who wouldn’t hurt a fly; urging to throw something at Canada for his suggestion that she was a fool, that Koku was a sly little actor playing her for fools, but she calms herself down, crushing her cigarette into tiny pieces as it sprinkles down the floor like make-shift birthday cake sprinkles.

She composes herself- she is the boss, after all, and a leader should set an example for the others.

“Yeah, I was being a dumbass”, she confesses half-heartedly- her pride is crumbling, that’s for sure, “I’ll try to do my job correctly.”

Her right-hand man bites his lip, not considering her apology, but nods.

(Her pride falls apart.)

-

He picks up on the third ring- music echoes through the end of the line, and America sighs.

“You do know the risks in calling me”, says a deeper voice at the other end, “right?”

“I  _ know _ ”, she replies, as she lights up another cigarette, trying to cosy herself in her nightdress. Her blonde hair slides around her, like she was being comforted by someone. “I just wanted to ask-”

“How are our kids? Perfectly fine”, the man interrupts, clipped. Then he sighs too- his voice turning much softer and concerning, like he always is. “America, I know you’re worried for them, but they’ll be  _ fine _ \- my  _ padre _ is capable of raising them, along with my siblings.”

“I don’t trust your father”, she responds, gritting her teeth, “Spain is not fond of me.”

“He only isn’t fond of  _ you _ ”, he replies, “just trust me on this,  _ bien _ ? Then you’ll see the children whenever you want to see them.”

She hesitates for a moment, before nodding, “Okay, alright- I trust you.”

He laughs into the call, and with a resounding ‘goodbye’, he hangs up, leaving her behind once again.

America puts the phone back in place, as she puffs out another smoke-filled wisp into the cold night air- she hears the sound of rain pouring down on her, the sound of thunder and the streak of lightning beyond the transparent properties of her window. She wonders what her brothers were doing now (she assumes Canada would still be looking for a one-night stand in the storm, Australia is cuddling with Villers in the cold rainy night, and New Zealand must be staring at the walls of his room)- she crushes the cigarette in her mouth and drops its remains down to the floor, as she walks up to her cupboards and opens them.

She was never really into drinking, especially on nights like these (and also because she isn’t one to go to work hangover)- but tonight, she’ll make an exception.

The cranberry liquid enters her mouth and down to her throat she can exceptionally feel the world shaking- certainly, she shouldn’t be drinking on a work night, but the feelings inside of her is tearing her apart, clawing at her soul and sanity with ludicrous smiles on their faces; she wants to forget everything ever happened.

So she takes a sip, then another, and another- until she doesn’t know why she was drinking in the first place, a memory being submerged in her mind.

As she sleeps, her mind goes back to Koku- everyday and every night, it always goes back to him.

(She somehow doesn’t dread it.)

-

Inmin and Tengri were somehow sharing rolls of cocaine with each other, their hazy eyes staring wickedly into the night’s rain- wanting to commit a murder in this hour (which they will, no one was stopping them) as Inmin lights up another cigarette and throws the old one out to the rain, watching the raindrops shower the concrete road with more rain.

(Usually, on evenings like this, Inmin would ask either Russia or China to smoke cannabis with him, but either they were busy - Russia - or just weren’t in the mood - China - so when he asked Tengri who by all accounts never really liked him - he’s desperate, not stupid - it was a surprise that he actually agreed to this.)

The man beside him accidentally elbows his wound on his chest (he was fumbling for his ‘goddamn lighter’) and he gasps in pain, the now-bandaged wound reopening again. He drops the cigarette on his mouth in shock, as he handles his wound like he handled the Ost situation (rather poorly, he supposes).

Tengri stands up, trying to stabilise his standing as he swears in another language- he can feel the jacket dampening with his blood once again, pain pinching his insides; but it wasn’t as painful as his initial earning of the wound. He remembered trying not to cry and scream while Soviet worked his way on wounding him, letting the knife penetrate his flesh, knowing he deserved this just by telling China a secret the man himself had trusted to him; if he can’t be trusted to keep a secret, he can’t be trusted to do  _ anything _ .

(He can still feel Soviet’s angry golden eyes on him, China’s disgusted and stern eye as they both think he deserves punishment.)

“Take the jacket off”, Tengri orders in that raspy voice of his- and Inmin follows, letting out another gasp of pain as the open wound hits the cold.

He knows they shouldn’t have been doing this- on a rainy night, when both were high as hell, but it would take them another hour or two to go back, since Tengri never really rides out on nights like these.

“Sorry”, Inmin croaks as Tengri tries to stop the bleeding with his hands- hissing in pain as he applies all kinds of first air rules on the wound. Even in the cold and misty rain, he can quite see and feel what his wound looks like- it was messier than the wound that was forever in his right eye (he still looks at it after he had taken a bath, feeling the entirety of his being weeping); but maybe that’s because this time instead of taking a shrapnel to his eye he took a scalpel and Soviet’s fingers on his skin.

“It’s fine”, Tengri’s voice was strained- he wasn’t fine. “Let’s go to my cafe, it’s just down that street.”

“What about your bike?”

Tengri shrugs, “She can manage.”

They take shelter from the rain by sneaking into a few houses and buildings- Inmin tries to level his breathing, the cold trying to murder him. A few seconds, Tengri would pause, and he’d always follow his eye to a billboard or a sign- he’d tilt his head in confusion, trying to make out what those words truly mean, but the sign refuses to let him read. He was well aware that his friend was illiterate, but that doesn’t make him think less of him.

(He wishes Tengri knows that- he gets idle comments from their friends about how he can’t read and that he’d rather listen to audiobooks; he didn’t give them an appropriate response other than his ears turning pink.)

Inmin and Tengri walk in the rain, side-by-side, Inmin trying to control his pants and wheezes of pain while his friend tolerates him, as they walk into the cold of the rain, his friend shielding his wound from the chill.

Finally, he can see Tengri’s eyes light up- he can see his eyes on a small building’s sign near them (he must be thinking of how familiar that sign looks, but not the words); he picks up his pace, no longer caring if rain was pouring on him, speed walking to his cafe.

They enter the back door (he fumbles for keys while Inmin leans on a wall), turning the light on - a replica of the orange star above them - as he motions for his friend to come inside and dodge the rain’s bullets.

By now, they were slightly wet- with Inmin’s wound hurting even more. He growls in absolute pain; meanwhile Tengri goes from cupboard to cupboard to find something to aid him, finally muttering out a ‘Yes!’ in Mongolian as he takes out a roll of bandages and gauze.

“This might hurt a little, Chollima”, he states softly, as he starts to unroll the bandages. Somehow, always, Tengri never calls him in his real name, preferring his code name like it was more of a pet name or endearing name to him- he wonders if it was emphasising how they aren’t really close (the glares he sends to his direction explains it), but there was a hint of warmth in his voice, adopting the name as a nickname, no matter how many people have called him that.

(And he likes the warmth it gives him- but he doesn’t show it.)

A few minutes later, they were once again smoking, rolling out cocaine into the cafe’s registering desk (Tengri says it was quite alright), as they sat on the ledge. He admires how Tengri still is into this whole business- Soviet had tried to dissuade him, time and time again, but he seems so determined to settle into a small business, where he doesn’t go around and kills dozens of people for money.

(When Inmin was young and a new recruit, Tengri was his teacher, despite only being a year older than him- he was strict, cunning, but also full of surprises.)

Tengri unleashes out a huge sigh, meaning he now wants to talk.

“Do you ever feel lonely?”, he asks, voice wrapping around the wind.

Inmin gives pause- he certainly was lonely if he goes around in the middle of the night spying on his ‘old’ family, but he has a new one, right here (the question scares him). “No.”

Tengri looks at him right in the eye- not fully buying his answer, “Well, I do.”

Inmin quirks a brow, “Never took you for a romantic- what brought this question up?”

His friend waves an arm in the air, “Nothing, it’s just… I have a crush on this guy that’s a regular customer in my cafe.”

Inmin perks up- he never really gave thought that the invulnerable and indestructible man beside him, a man who has many kill counts, would have a weakness such as having feelings for a man he stares at often. “Oh? Who is it?”

His friend’s eyes were now full of mist, “He’s studious- sometimes whenever he’s so engrossed in his studying I’d try to make sense of all his work book over his shoulder.”

He wonders why that description was familiar- but he brushes that thought aside and gives Tengri a small smirk, “Maybe you should approach him headfirst, you know.”

He turns to look at Inmin, “I don’t know; whenever he looks at me he looks angry.”

Inmin shrugs, “I don’t know much about love or whatever, but you gotta listen to your inner voice- you like him, don’t you? Try to make him interested in you.”

Tengri seems to consider this for a moment- he looks so enlightened that even the world seems to stop for a moment, the pair both tuning the rain out. He turns to smile at Inmin, which was one of the kindest things someone has done to him.

“You know what? I’ll consider your suggestion. Thanks for helping me, Chollima.”

He gives him a small smile, “No problem, Mongolia.”


	11. Electrify My Heart (heart, heart, heart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warnings: underage drinking, smoking, death**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's pretty obvious at how I rushed this lmao  
> -  
> Name Guide:  
> Daehan Minguk- South Korea  
> Choson Inmin- North Korea

He was crying.

(He was  _ beyond _ crying at this point- beyond consolation and comfort, wishing to crawl onto the grave his mother is being sorted in. crying doesn’t even begin with explaining the web of emotions strangling him right now.)

The young boy holds on to his stuffed toy; his only remnant that his mother had existed, having given it to them on the eve of his fifth birthday (she used up all her remaining money to buy such a luxurious gift). He watches the process of the ceremony in his seat up the front; he does not know who all these people are (save for Kazakhstan and his mother, throwing him a few glances every once in a while), his eyes never leaving the coffin where they put his mother in.

He wants to walk up and kiss his mother goodbye; to recount what he had gone through without her by his side, how these ‘social workers’ waste his time by trying to explain to him what death is and how his mother will never come back (of course he knows what the meaning of death is- he may be a child but he is  _ not _ stupid), but something stops him- perhaps of the fact he doesn’t want to see his mother’s face, used to her fighting the sickness embedded inside her, now at peace.

That doesn’t sound like his mother at all, in his head.

His mother fought back against her diseases, all by herself- all the while trying to take care of Mongolia, even in their gruesome state of poverty.

(He wonders what would’ve happened to the both of them, if he had accepted Kazakhstan’s suggestion to run errands for the Soviet Union’s mob- would his mother still be alive in the flesh?)

As the ceremony ends, and everyone gathers to see his mother be lowered into the coffin-sized hole in the ground, he kisses his mother, compliant to everything the workers say; her cheeks were cold to the touch, colder than what the sickness had given her.

Once they start to cover her coffin with soil, he wonders- wonders if he gets to see her youthful face, full of life, or he won’t even remember where his mother’s grave is located because a decade after her death the cemetery in which her body lies is now just a parking space. A parking space with the dead.

He starts to sniffle- as social workers hold his hands, trying to divert his attention away from the grave, clutching tightly to his stuffed horse- no words can describe the emptiness he feels in his chest, no longer being filled. It was hard to know what his future holds without the person heralding his future, pushing him forward with such determination that even he thinks is impossible.

He tries to find the meaning of the mess of his feelings right now, sniffling and crying to himself as tears sweep down his cheeks; he wanted his mama to hold him, not some stranger thinking she will be his mama, because she only came into his life while his mama is in the hospital.

(A surge of anger rises deep inside him, as he claws at his stuffed horse; why didn’t the social workers be the ones to pay for his mama’s hospital bill? They said they were gonna take care of him, and if they truly care about him, they’d pay the debt he owes to the hospital housing her, refusing to take care of her unless he has the money.)

“ _ Proshu proshcheniya _ .” Suddenly, like the world growing as dark as his mind, he and the workers yanking him to a new home (he always tells them he doesn’t want a new home, that he can simply be with his mother’s corpse but they would always shake their heads) stops; this man was tall, bulky, towering above the social workers, his dark golden eyes glaring right at the workers.

The young boy trembles, hugging his stuffed horse like it’s the end of the world, trying to look anywhere but the man in front of him.

One of the social workers has the audacity to speak to such a beast, “Y-yes, sir?”

The stranger looks at the kid in their arms, shivering and crying - both from the overwhelming situation in front of him or from his mother - and turns back to glare at the workers. “I wish to speak to this boy.”

“Sir, are you a distant relative that has not hold contact with-”

“Yes, yes, I am”, he calmly brushes them away from the boy, as they all take a step backward and let the mob boss take the small child, away from everything he has ever dreamed of.

(They are cowards- when faced with such a threat, they turn their backs on him just like that, preferring to save their skins rather than a poor boy who would be thrown into the wolves.)

The grip on his arm was tight- it seems that the tall and large man has some strength too. He tries not to cry, just from the sheer pain of the grip (he is a big boy now, he can’t cry because of an injury)- he bites his lip, holding his stuffed horse tight, not wanting to lose it in the traffic.

They stop in an alleyway - old and mouldy - and the man turns to look at the boy, his eyes trying to remember why he had captured a boy who lost his mother, before his glare resides, turning to a warm and haunting smile. He did not smile back- he only cowers at the sight of the man.

“Your cousin has told me a lot about you”, he replies simply, as he busies himself with his coat, seemingly looking for something.

The young boy perks up, looking at the man in front of him with big eyes, “Soviet?”

The elder laughs. “You got it- it seems you are quite smart,  _ malen’kiy _ .”

The younger boy sighs, looking at the ground dejectedly, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to join your club, mister.”

(It wasn’t a club, that he knows- it is where bad people go to smoke and do drugs and other kinds of crimes the police always hunts down.)

He simply laughs- deep but warm, a summer breeze rippling across the ocean’s waters. “It is fine. I’m sorry about your mother too- I should have given you the money you needed rather than waiting for you to join my mob. And when I  _ did _ … well, it was converted to your mother’s funeral money.” He goes back to do some weird voodoo on the walls, and the youngling keeps on talking, either to make him entertained while being busy or from sadness.

He hugs his stuffed toy, staring at Soviet with large eyes, “The workers are gonna take me away, mister. They’re gonna put me in a family that doesn’t even know my name and what I like.”

Soviet turns back to look at him, his golden eyes shining with intent, “And this is where I step in.”

As if on cue, the walls at the back of the alley give way, a wall of bricks rearranges to create a new path for them to cross in- like a secret passageway his mother used to read to him every night, about detectives and mafia bosses and solving every kinds of mysteries known to mankind thus far.

(He had tried to read a book himself, but he cannot comprehend the English words that lies on the pages in each storybook, focusing and squinting hard to try and read but all he can read out is the title before he becomes a quick babbling mess; his mama kisses him on the forehead for comfort as she takes the lead from then on.)

The walls of the alleyway transforms to… another hidden alley, complete with people buying from hidden stalls, trapped in their own world bubble from the looks of it. He wonders if his mama would like this new world he had uncovered, away from the prying eyes of law and order. They were all smiling- genuine smiles, something that he has never done after his mama has been admitted to the hospitals. The people in the hidden alleyway look so…  _ casual _ , like they were never sealed off the real world.

Soviet turns back to him with a large smile on his face, “Welcome to the Hidden Corners, Magnolia.” He extends a hand towards the youngling, intending for him to take it.

The young boy hesitantly extends his hand, fingers lingering along Soviet’s fingers. Then he smiles; small, but seemingly genuine. “It’s Mongolia, sir.”

He takes his hand, Soviet’s hand matching the old warmth his mama had given him, through thick and thin. He drops his stuffed horse - its name was  _ mori _ \- into the mouldy alley, as he follows Soviet through a new world, a new life.

-

Soviet had told him - multiple times - in the past that opening a cafe is merely ridiculous; but he had gone through it anyway, like he was an overprotective father trying to dissuade his son’s dreams. But of course- like he was the rebellious son he never had become with his mother, he disobeys his foster father’s orders like it was the speed limit signs he disregards every time he drives his bike around the streets like he owns the place.

(He has been stopped by cops, of course; but with a simple flick of his gun aimed at their faces, they disregard the fact they have rights to disarm him- and he speeds off before he gets bloody.)

It was hard, getting this establishment in place- due to the fact that he was a member of a mob (he had many officers bugging him about his personal records); that he technically should be staying in school rather than busily managing an establishment of his (he has no need for school- Soviet has taught him everything he knows, except to read); and those documents and contracts and licenses he had to sign himself- that is the most difficult of all, as he has no idea what the words are. While everyone’s eyes only pace back-and-forth, comprehending each sentence like they would rather let their minds speak to them, he is struggling with the words, clutching the papers tightly.

(He had tried learning to read  _ Angli khel _ so many times in the past- but it falls short under Mongolian and Russian, his mind refusing to read the sentences. He tries to recall that all of these printed words also exist in the realms of the tongue, but he keeps pausing on every word, wondering how they are pronounced, lips parted to speak.

He tries and tries to read, for the hours of night, focusing on children’s storybooks as they have pictures and big letters, their words simple, before he sees from the tips of his window the sunrise, and with his frustration he throws the books across the wall.)

Russia was the first who congratulated him when he opened his cafe; he’d said that he could put his ‘coffee-brewing skills’ to work. Choson Inmin was the second; he seems to be awkward, fidgeting a little, words sharp and sounding insincere but he knows he isn’t. Then it was Renmin, on the arms of Soviet, who - jokingly - asked him if the coffee he serves for his fellow comrades is ‘free’- he had snickered at his implication.

He mans the cashier this day- he had taken turns with his own employees each day, so he had something to do rather than manage the salaries of each and every single one who was naive enough to enter under his domain. He decides to leave  _ that _ job for Russia, who’d be happy to help his business whenever he leaves the bar in commendable hands.

He thanks his sheer willpower - and memory - for memorising the entire menu (so that he can never crane up to pause at the strange writings he made one of his employees write), as he smiles with each approaching customer, their frowns or impatient looks pissing him off a little. Rude people make him want to close down the cafe or strangle these poor blokes who’d  _ dare _ snap back at him.

Mongolia looks up from the cash register after he waved a farewell to the previous customer- only to gasp at the next one (he holds his breath in).

The boy in front of him was endearingly  _ beautiful _ ; his dark hair was speckled with blonde hair dye (but that doesn’t make him any less of a beauty), dark blue eyes staring back at him like the sea will drown him, eyelashes long but sweet, his lips parted to speak while his eyebrows furrow (perhaps of his incompetence as a cashier).

He looks familiar somehow- a portrait tainted with various colours.

The stranger clicks his tongue impatiently, “What are you staring at? Did you  _ hear _ my order?”

Just like that, Mongolia snaps back to reality- then starts to blink, registering his voice; he has heard it before, in his room late at night, so that his voice can echo across his walls, haunting yet beautiful at the same time, as he stares at his phone like it was only  _ him and the singer _ across the room, dancing.

Again, his thoughts are replaced by the impatient fingers tapping and a voice, “Are you out of your mind? Did you hear me?”

Mongolia gains the confidence to speak, “ _ Namaig uuchlaarai _ , but are you  _ Hanguk _ on YouTube?”

The boy raises a brow, “Yes; anyways my order-”

Mongolia cuts in with a pseudo-squeal, trying to keep himself cool and composed, “I’ve liked all your songs! They seem to have an effect on me every time I visit your channel I get mesmerized with  _ dozens _ of your updates-”

“Are you done rambling on?”, his customer cuts in acidly, “this isn’t a casual conversation. You’re a cashier- I  _ give _ you my order, you get my money, and I wait a few minutes at a table until I can get my order.” His dark blue eyes cut like jewels in the making, “now, my order, if you haven’t forgotten about it while blabbering.”

Mongolia grows quiet. He purses his lips, hesitating- thinking that his aforementioned idol will come to his senses and apologise profusely, but he was standing there, so poised and ‘professional’, as he glares at the cashier with judging eyes. He nods subserviently, as he calls out to one of his employees what the boy wants before shoving the money he gave Mongolia down the register, his eyes pinned on the boy slinking back to one of the tables, bag at hand, in which he takes out a workbook to start on working as he waits for his order to finish.

(Apparently his real name is Daehan Minguk- where had he heard that name before?)

He can feel the anger thawing his blind idolisation- a mountain transforming into a murderous volcano, lava erupting as clouds of ash cover the blue skies with grey smoke and ash. He clenches his fists, trying to hide how angry he is at the other boy, with his  _ workbook _ and  _ thoughtful expression _ and clearly knowing how to solve advanced math problems without pause, his eyes buried into the words.

Every annoying customer, his eyes always go back to Minguk, biting his lip, as he takes out a calculator to solve, until finally his order is done.

“Daehan Minguk!”, Mongolia calls, and like a twig the boy who was called snaps into attention, his eyes on Mongolia.

Mongolia gives Minguk his order, with a generic ‘Thank you for ordering’, but Minguk does not move from his place, looking at his coffee then at Mongolia- like he thinks he’d poisoned it. Before he can scream at Minguk to get out of his cafe, away from him, the boy in front of him sighs, a sheepish look on his face.

“I’m sorry, for the way I snapped at you earlier”, he says, his dark blue eyes which were full of irritation and fire, now mellowing down to a guilty and awkward teenager. “I’m just… stressed out at the moment. What’s your name again?”

He pauses, the volcano inside of him sinking and turning the surroundings into lush fields with a mountain watching over them. He can drown in Minguk’s eyes anyday, a pool to his doom.

“My name’s Mongolia.”

Minguk gives him a small smile, enough to make his heart beat faster. “Nice to meet you, Mongolia.”

Dark red meets dark blue- blood against water. He feels a smile ripple across the surface of his face again, his eyes shining. “ _ Chi ch bas _ .”

-

Mongolia’s eyes are locked on the target, its swirls and circles mocking him- telling him with their eyes that his bullets cannot touch them, that he will never shoot bullseye.

It makes him want to walk over to the target and take it down without using his gun.

The handle of the pistol feels cold on his palms, the metal giving him memories of relentless winters he spent with his mother, cosying by her side as a harsh gust of wind blows over his body as his mother tries to give him comfort over the rough times, her songs giving him the life he deserves as she tries heating the place up with her own nimble body, electricity cut off from this cursed place a long time ago.

(“ _ Eej ee, bi aij baina _ ”, he remembers himself saying, as the howling of winds in the winter cold gets stronger, a monster in the dark with no name.

His mother coos, wrapping him around with blankets full of holes, as her breath heats his neck, pulling him closer to her. “I’m here, baby, I’m here.”

She keeps repeating those words to the point he stopped believing in them.)

Soviet cocks an eyebrow at him, impatiently waiting for him to aim and shoot. “What are you waiting for,  _ rebenok _ ? Shoot, for god’s sake!”

He hesitates a little - uncharacteristic for someone like him - his red eyes meeting Soviet’s golden ones, glaring at him threateningly; he will not give him dinner if he doesn’t shoot a bull’s eye this night. So he disregards the heaviness of the pistol, how cold it is, how he has no confidence over himself just to eat for the night.

(He hasn’t eaten dinner for a few days- because he can’t shoot a proper bull’s eye, and his boss seems to think that is a disgrace.)

He tries to remember Soviet’s instructions on how to aim a gun, his deep voice echoing in his mind.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

He breathes in and out; slowly and deeply, trying to level his stress, wanting his thoughts coming to a halt as he focuses his eyes only on the target, dark red eyes glinting with hatred for it mocking him, wanting to tell him that he was a failure for everything he didn’t do. He bares his teeth with hatred- that this nonliving object was the cause of his starvation the past few days, how he cries himself to sleep every night, dreaming of food he longs to taste in his mouth.

He needs to relax- wanting to herd all his emotions, trying to control every single level of his breathing, as he focuses on the target, lifting the pistol on his hand up, once again intending to hit its target right at the centre- tormenting him the past few days mercilessly, an eye that needs to be shot at.

He rightfully aims his pistol at the centre, dark red eyes burning with hatred.

_ No more days of hunger _ , his mind promises. He takes a deep breath, his body cool and composed, stomach growling and screaming of rage at the injustice being served at him. He will feast this night- feast on the bones of the nightmares he’s had these nights. The trigger underneath his finger was toying with him teasingly- he wants him to push it down, to shoot the bullet like they’re in their natural habitat.

He side-eyes Soviet, who was still glaring at him- the sun blaring so hard into him that he’s lost all will to shoot.

He pulls the trigger- the sound of the gun does not hinder him no more; if it means getting him the food  _ he _ so deserves, eyes clenched shut, wanting the accuracy of his aim be a surprise (a disappointment when he sees he’s missed his target, a huge celebration for him when he hits bull’s eye).

“Mongolia.” Soviet’s voice booms from the haze of his thoughts; thoughts of food and acknowledgment replenishing him more than physical food. He perks up at his name, his eyes on his father figure, who places a hand on his shoulder, his face cold but his eyes shining with pride; something he wants to see in his own father, whoever he may be.

“Did I do good,  _ Zövlölt _ ?”, he asks with the mixture of awkwardness and excitement, fidgeting with the gun on his hands, trying not to pull the trigger.

“What do you think,  _ moy uchenik _ ?” His eyes are now on the cursed target that had haunted his dreams since forever, and he gasps- his bullet lodges deep at its centre, reflecting his fiery onto the target like it was nothing. He looks back at Soviet, eyes glinting like a cat’s.

“Well done. Perhaps a  _ feast _ will suffice?”

Mongolia’s eyes light up, gasping as he jumps excitedly. “Yes!  _ Please _ !”

Soviet smiles down at him. “All right- you deserve it, after all.”

“I do!  _ I do _ !”

He gives him a small laugh- suffice to say, he has entertained the older man for so long. “All right, all right, you get to have dinner with your new family.”

Mongolia skips away from the target practice room- he can’t help it; he was revelling at the fact he will not starve any longer, not anymore will he starve, spend his nights cold, alone, and hungry out of his mind, feeding himself only from scraps of food that Kazakhstan sneaks into his room, whimpering and crying, his tongue never tasting the ecstasy of gluttony, even if it is shoved into his nose.

He meets his family once again, in their places of the dinner table, devouring everything their plates choose, small talk overlapping with small talk until everything else is an incomprehensible and jumbled mess of languages. He finds Kazakhstan reserving a chair right beside him, his blue eyes gleaming with pride.

He takes a seat right next to his cousin, his hair being ruffled by his older cousin, and he feels happiness like never before.

(Dinner isn’t as pleasant as he thought- most of the food that his hands can reach are being swiped by much more agile hands, their eyes teasingly making fun of him. Renmin was looking at him with an unreadable expression, full of intent and amusement. Only Kazakhstan’s comforting hand on his shoulder can truly feed him and not the eggs and bones he scavenged across the savanna.)

-

Mongolia was on his lunch break (a.k.a his ‘time to rest from chaos’), as he busily makes his own coffee for himself- he makes his way across the throngs of people, slightly pushing and shoving customers away from his body. He can feel himself suffocating from the masses of bodies, taking a sip of his coffee as he eyes a table not being occupied by customers- as he takes a step closer, however, his heart stops, a thousand mirrors shattering.

(He and his friends were in shock at how popular this place had become- as popular as that restaurant that got blown up by Soviet a few days ago. He has mixed feelings about it; for once in his life, his coffee-brewing skills being admired by the most remote strangers in the city… but the crowds and masses of people and impatient voices pissing him off and making him lose his sanity even more.)

The vacant table was not vacant at all- Minguk was sitting there, a drink in hand, wearing earphones connected to his phone. He was humming to the tune, a thousand melodies all around Mongolia, as he approached the boy, who was occupied with both music and studies, looking so at peace he’d feel bad to have ever disturbed him in the first place. He feels awkward around Minguk, for some reason; like he will never belong to whatever world he does, always swimming towards him but in the end he is pushing him away ever so slightly.

Mongolia - for the first time in his life - is hesitant to disturb him; he finds Minguk…  _ intimidating _ , of sorts, but perhaps that was because of yesterday, when he ought to be rude to him. So he only stares- stares at the words on Minguk’s workbook, trying to figure out what it truly means, as he is now once again hesitating (every time he pauses to try reading the signs, he just sees them as doodles, drawings), only standing near him, trying to figure out what are the right words to say.

(‘Heya- Minguk, right? Well I thought this table was vacant but since you’re here, why don’t we share tables?’ Okay, no: first of all he knows his name and it’d be considered rude to forget it- and secondly that sounds like what a douche would say.

‘Hey, Minguk! Can we share the same table?’ Too cheerful, he hates it.

‘You’re in my spot.’ Yeah… no.)

While he stands there like a customer quietly waiting for his order, torturing himself with the agony of standing, Minguk side-eyes him, and he looks up from his workbook, no longer looking in peace with himself.

“What are you looking at?”, Minguk asks curtly, his brows furrowing.

He takes a long time to respond, taking in Minguk’s rosy cheeks, dark blue eyes once again drowning him with pools of infatuation. He does not know why he was acting like this- why looking at Minguk gives him the same pang of hunger and thirst that he’s had whenever he thinks of that target at night.

When he looks back at Minguk’s impatient stare, he clears his throat and responds with, “Uh, it’s my lunch break.”

(He silently facepalms at his answer- what kind of response was that?)

The boy seated seems to understand, his frown turning to a casual stare as he gives way, “Ah, alright. You can sit beside me while you have your lunch.”

Mongolia is speechless- he mutters a quick thank-you to Minguk as he takes a seat beside him, both their legs brushing (which makes him jump from pure shock and his heart beating with a new tune). He calmly settles down, trying to order his heart to stop beating rapidly and fast, as he places his cup of coffee near him, taking out his lunch - that Kazakhstan made for him - and opens it a big distance away from Minguk and his workbooks, as he goes back to looking at peace, successfully comprehending the words with a flicker of his eyes.

He takes a bite of his lunch, occasionally lifting his cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip of his personal brewing.

“Mongolia?” He almost spits his coffee out, before composing himself and turning to stare at the - rather beautiful - boy beside him.

“Y-Yes?” He  _ stuttered _ .

Minguk closes his workbook, pencil lodged beneath the pages, “Who brewed the coffee? They’re  _ really _ good.”

He feels a sense of pride combining with the red colours of crimson in his chest, as a smile crawls up his lips. “I brewed the coffee, if you’re asking.” There was a tingling feeling in his chest, and pride was not the word he was looking for- it was more than that, as Minguk’s side smile transformed to a real one.

“ _ You _ made the coffee?”, he was not being condescending- rather he was in disbelief and interested. “You’re  _ really _ good!”

Mongolia gives him a small smile, his heart thumping faster, faster- blood pulses through his veins, through his lungs that make it harder for him to breathe, through his heart, as Minguk’s smile electrifies him even further. Lightning streaks his heart, transforming it to something else even  _ he _ has no idea what it is.

“T-thank you.” He stutters-  _ again _ .

Minguk leans closer towards him, face inches apart; he could feel his hands on Mongolia’s legs, his breath smelling of both peppermints of coffee, as the ocean’s waves rock his boat back-and-forth, trying to pull him down to the inky darkness below, to the point he will never come back up to bask in the sunlight- nothing more but a feast in the waters. He takes a deep breath, trying to slow time itself with its wonders and whatnot.

In his mind, he did not want this moment to pick up pace, for Minguk to pack his things and bid him farewell, and for Mongolia’s lunch break to wrap it up all by itself and make him go back to the counter where he will slowly rot but spring up once again when Minguk comes back, with his confident yet awkward stature, impatient frown and beautiful voice.

Minguk’s eyebrows furrow slightly, “I’m curious- you look the same age as me, but instead of studying, you own a cafe.”

He wants to tell him the truth: that he was orphaned at a young age and Soviet took him to the Hidden Corners where law and order were never just themselves… but he holds it inside of him- maybe he’ll tell Minguk one day, when they both know too much of each other to the point it sickens yet endears the both of them in a way no one can truly know. So he opens his mouth, to tell his customer the ‘official’ story.

(An official story fabricated with lies, he supposes, but a story nonetheless. It has half of the truths and half of the lies that have been scalding at his throat for years with no way to get by.)

“Well, my mum died when I was little”, Mongolia starts his sob story, “so I was put into the systems; however, the foster families didn’t really… like me too well. Kept on badgering me, distancing me from their own family like a pack of hounds. When someone  _ finally _ adopted me, I was excited. Been tutoring me ever since, and even let me establish this place.”

Minguk hones in on the very first sentence, “Wait… your mum  _ died _ ?”

He blinks, questioning the fact that the stranger beside him seems to find that interesting (or heartbreaking), so he nods a little. “I… yes?”

He gives him a small look of pity that he knows all too well; there was a feeling of utter dislike, hating the way he looks at him like some criminal caught in the same trap, and he wanted to kindly ask Minguk to stop looking at him like that.

(He’s never even heard his mother’s voice in his dreams, replaced by Soviet’s deep drawl.)

“It’s okay, I lost my mother too, when I was young.” Now  _ that _ was the phrase Mongolia is most certainly surprised to hear; he stares at Minguk, daring to open his mouth to ask what had happened to his mother, but he closes it, out of fear for Minguk himself. His eyes droop with a kind of sadness that Mongolia never felt again, not when he has a new family that takes care of him and acts like guardians for him.

He gives Minguk a - slightly forced - smile. “It’s okay- I barely remember my mum.”

His customer’s eyes meet his, two pairs of both blood and water combining. “But the pain’s still there, right?”

As if on cue, a pang of pain pinches him- a bullet lodging deep into his stomach, a hard slap on the face, a scalpel trying to take his eye out, teeth grazing his neck. He flinches at his seat a little, as he turns to look at Minguk.

“It is.”

-

He and Soviet are in a dark room- only the gaps at the doors and windows are there to provide light in the darkness. There was a sense of dread pooling inside of him, gripping at the gun he was holding tighter into his hands, the cold metal not as cold as the outside, yet rather hot in his skin. He bites his lip- strong enough to draw blood. Once he tastes the copper in his tongue and the feeling of his lips blistering, he makes no move of being in pain.

The cold was freezing him- biting into his skin, taking all of the warmth away just to laugh at his predicament. No one was talking, not even Soviet, who was standing behind him; he felt his golden glare directed at him, waiting and watching for him to make a move. Legs trembling, lip quivering, and eyes watering, he turns to look at the captive at the end of the room.

The man was bound to the chair, ropes looking so tight it might make him implode with stress and struggle (he thinks that would be a better death to suffer to rather than shooting him), his cries of help muffled by the gag on his mouth, and the sack over his head.

(Mongolia didn’t know what the sack was for- was it to dissuade him from following Soviet’s orders because he is about to shoot an innocent person? Or was it for him not to feel guilty, because the sack is over the man’s face, thus obscuring his frightened and scared face from the child about to take his life? Either way, it makes his stance waver.)

“ _ Uchenik _ , if you do not shoot the man, I will shoot  _ you _ .” Comes Soviet’s nonchalant drawl; a threat of shooting a child as punishment for refusing to kill an - innocent - man.

His heart beats faster, as he raises his gun, looking away from the crime that he was about to commit.

“Mongolia you idiot, you cannot see your target if you are not  _ looking _ at them.” His heart tries to escape through his rib cage, but he pulls himself together, slowly craning his head to face the victim,  _ his _ would-be victim.

His lips quiver again, the trigger beneath his fingers smooth as metal, as he swallows up all his guilt, fear and anger (anger for what? Making him kill this poor man?). He looks back at Soviet, glaring at him, staring him down with daggers for eyes, pointed straight towards his heart.

“B-but… who is this man?”, he asks Soviet softly, his eyes watering with tears (he didn’t  _ want _ them in his eyes). “Is he an enemy? Or-”

“He is  _ your _ enemy if you do not move fast.”

He slowly nods, facing his ‘opponent’ once again, trying to move from his binds, wanting nothing but to get out of the damn place, his body tensing with newfound strength, trying to escape before the bullet hits him on the head.

Mongolia mutters a prayer of forgiveness to Buddha, wanting him to listen to the reason why he is doing such a horrid crime (‘ _ please _ don’t turn me to a cockroach I beg of you’)- and pulls on the trigger, the strangled cries of the stranger-now-dead-man growing stronger and more desperate-

And it stops, all at once, like the man in the sack was never there at all, like it was just a fever dream that Mongolia had inscripted upon himself because he is faced with thousands of crystals, now repeating the same scene of what had happened in this room.

Suddenly, regret pounces on him in his most vulnerable state; his lungs refuse air, his heart stops beating for a second before continuing begrudgingly, his eyes growing blurry, limbs going limp and the hand holding the gun going numb- he drops his weapon to the cold and glass floors, hating the noise it makes when it falls, completely in its own world.

(Whenever he goes back to this memory, he wants to know why he had felt regret for a man he never knew; was it because he had cheated his chance on having a long life?)

He can feel a hand patting his head, ruffling his hair- instead of the warmth it naturally exudes in these types of situations like this, it was as cold as the room around them, a dead touching the living.

“Well done,  _ moy uchenik _ .”

He numbly nods, staring ahead, at the sack now spilled with crimson, the body limp against his binds.

(He feels cold, so cold.)

(He feels like he has done the worst thing possible.)

-

A few days have past, and everything seems so routine for him; waking up and taking a morning stroll with a cigarette on his mouth (complete with a few missions Soviet assigns to him), riding around the waking City with his bike in tow, looking completely at bliss, then opening his establishment, waiting for Minguk to come by so they can talk, before the boy leaves for school and he leaves with the sole intent to accomplish all missions, then collapsing on his bed after taking a cigarette for dinner.

(Kazakhstan thinks it’s unhealthy for him to go around and skip dinner, but he assures his cousin he is just fine, and that eating food before going to bed will make him vomit.)

As the day goes by, Kazakhstan - to Mongolia’s surprise - visits his cafe, clad in a trenchcoat, as he makes his way towards the counter, catching the initial cashier by surprise.

“Excuse me”, he breathes, “I’m looking for this cafe’s owner? Mongolia?”

The lady on the cash register stares at him for a moment before calling her boss, who immediately makes his way towards his cousin, a surprised look on his face.

“Kaz! What are you doing here?”, he asks, as he grips on his cousin’s arm like it will be the last time he sees him.

He gives Mongolia a small smile, “To see my baby cousin, of course.”

He snorts as he excuses himself and his relative away from prying eyes, into the kitchen, then at the back of the alley where no one can disturb them, can find them, can get rid of their eyes wanting to know more about their stories and everything they can touch.

“What’re you doing here?”, he asks again, a hint of irritation in his voice.

Kazakhstan sighs- like he surrenders, like he was giving into the heat of the moment; he takes out a pack of cigarettes from inside of his trench coat’s pockets. He lifts his head up, his chestnut brown eyes gleaming with apology.

“Remember what happened this morning?”

Mongolia decides to play dumb- crossing his arms, raising a brow, as he stares at him. “Oh? What happened this morning?”

He heaves a small sigh, “Don’t play dumb, Mongolia- look, I’m sorry for using up all your favourite coffee  _ and _ your favourite brand of cigarettes.” He reaches a hand with the pack of cigarettes to Mongolia, who accepts it with a smile.

“It’s fine, Kaz- sorry about flipping out and almost hitting your girlfriend.”

His cousin’s eyes flash with irritation. “She’s going to put a restraining order on you.”

Mongolia scoffs, putting the pack of cigarettes in his pockets after he takes one out and lights it up. “Hell yeah she would.”

They wrap their conversation up with a small silence between them- there is nothing better than the noise inside of his cafe than silence. He leans against the wall of the alley, billowing a puff of smoke into the already polluted wind, the oxygen around them being poisoned with whatever the hell the smoke is fuming with. Once his cigarette dries up - like his life - Mongolia disposes of it into the mouldy streets below, as he looks at Kazakhstan, sitting on the steps of his cafe.

“Well, you best be going now, since I bet Soviet’s got a mission on your-”

“No”, Kazakhstan replies simply, standing up, “I wanna see how my baby cousin’s managing the entire place.”

Mongolia rolls his eyes, one arm on his hips, as he glares at the older man like he was nothing but his playmate. “Absolutely  _ not _ , Kaz.”

His cousin dramatically gasps, before giving him a look of utter pleading, “Come on Mongolia, please?”

He tries not to break resolve- that his puppy-dog look will never break him, but nevertheless it does, as he gives in with a small sigh, “All right, come inside.”

Coming inside was  _ not _ the best way to start a conversation with his cousin- because once the pair make their way across the masses of people, with Kaz leading their conversation on (about how brutal Inmin’s punishment is, apparently) and as he nods or hums along (never really vocal about the punishment, seeing as he somewhat deserves it for leaking precious information), his feet skids to a stop, his heart thumping louder and faster as his eyes pin onto the lone figure studying at one of the tables.

His cousin slightly bumps into him, muttering a swear word out of indignation- but it immediately dissolves as he notices how awestruck he looks.

“Mongolia? Is there something wrong?” He doesn’t respond, as his eyes are still on Minguk, doing everything in his resolve to study in such a noisy place, a cup of coffee lying abandoned near him. His cousin follows his eyes, and a devious smirk plays on his lips.

“Oh, there  _ is _ something wrong”, he turns back to the awestruck teen, still looking at Minguk with that lingering gaze, “you want to date him!”

Mongolia snaps out of his lovesick (it is  _ not _ from lovesickness; it was from how pretty and entrancing the studying boy looks) trance as he starts to sputter out of shock, heat lingering in his cheeks. “Excuse me Kaz?! I barely  _ know _ this boy!” This does not dissuade him, however, as his lips turn to a small yet devious grin.

“Oh my god, my baby cousin’s got a crush!”

“I do  _ not _ ! And stop calling me a ‘baby’ because I’m eighteen now!”

“You’re still a baby in my heart, Mon.”

He lets out a fond sigh, “And you’re a dumbass in my heart, Kaz.”

Just in time, Minguk seems to sense a brand new feeling around his surroundings (embarrassment and mischief present in the air)- his eyes look up to find Mongolia, and he smiles.

“Hey Mongolia!”, he calls out, a bright smile on his face, “come sit with me!”

Judging from Kaz’s devious smile and Minguk’s much sincere one, he either has two choices: the first one is to accept Minguk’s invitation and will forever be the subject of Kazakhstan’s teasing- the second was to hurt Minguk’s feelings when he pays more attention to his cousin’s aforementioned teasing; he did not want those eyes that show there was something more to him than being a cold-blooded monster to look completely shattered.

He steels himself, smiling back at Minguk, “Of course, I’d love to.” He turns to glare at his cousin, motioning for him to leave the both of them alone.

He gives Mongolia a small smile, whispering on his ear, “Enjoy your  _ date _ .”

He wants to painstakingly tell him that this was not a ‘date’ and it was far from that (he’d pick a more decent setting to have a date with Minguk)- but he was now walking to the backdoor, giving him a small glance, his brown eyes glinting. He releases a small smile, keeping his smile intact as he takes a seat beside Minguk, whose cheeks were colouring a shade of red.

(A shade of red he keeps seeing on Valentines’ cards.)

“Who’s that guy a while ago?”, Minguk asks, his lips thick and red, lip gloss evident- Mongolia has the urge to put his lips into the other’s mouth, but he stops that urge.

“Oh, that was my cousin”, Mongolia replies, a question forming in his mind, “anyways, you seem to be eager to keep me in your company. Why did you ask me to join you?” (‘If you’re asking me to solve your math, I’m sorry but  _ I can’t read _ .’ He bites down that phrase.)

The teen beside him gives him a sheepish look, “Did I disturb you from your conversation with your cousin? I’m really sorry-”

“No, you didn’t disturb us”, he cuts in, “you  _ saved _ me, rather- so now, will you please answer my question?” There was a slight edge on his voice- trying to be polite and just.

“Oh yes, the question- the answer is that your company the past few days… really helps me relax as I answer my homework.”

Mongolia’s heart beats faster, calling for the half to make his entire heart cold, ice thawing in his veins- he tries to keep his composure, but heat warms his cheeks and Minguk must have seen it because his face reddens even more, the colour of the blood dripping down his fingers.

“Wow”, Mongolia breathes- he slaps himself for such a lacklustre statement, but he adds into it more, trying to sound as sincere as his heart as possible, “You can’t imagine my surprise when you said that, Minguk- I’m flattered, I really am.”

His dark blue orbs deepen, stars twinkling in the sea, “I know. I can see it in your eyes- your eyes answer all my questions.”

He leans into Mongolia, and he thinks that the boy who sings and hums softly can do something more with those lips, so close, their breaths almost touching themselves-

They stare at each other’s eyes, trying to find which is sincere and which is not, their lips tingling with intent, wanting them to touch, for their tongues to make contact, as their eyes glow with the same dream- both of which are too hesitant to reenact, even when their minds give them perfect images of what is about to happen.

(The scene of he kissing Minguk and his arms combing through his hair is always plaguing him every night, as he tries to sleep, only to feel his lips tingling and his mouth calling out to him- his name even makes him distracted from his dozens of missions, seeing Minguk everywhere, clouding his vision and sense of thought.

Soviet is thoroughly disappointed, and all of his - irritating - friends tell him he is lovestruck.)

Just in time, Minguk’s watch starts to beep annoyingly- a dozen of piercing shrieks clinging onto the air they’ve made all around themselves like their moment did not matter in time. He was disappointed, of course- that he has no more time to talk or do those… weird moments where they stare into space, but he feels relief; he thinks he won’t be able to hold himself any longer with those eyes brimming with intent and desire, and those lips of his…

“I gotta go now”, Minguk says urgently, as he packs up all his things (he puts his pencil case on the first pocket of his school bag, and the workbooks on the second zipper, the much larger one) and gives Mongolia a light kiss on the cheek- turning him into more of a flushed strawberry rather than a real person; the kiss was light, a butterfly resting on his cheek.

He is frozen in position, his mouth agape after he realised what Minguk had done - god, he is so warm right now - with the teen sparing one last look of longing, before disappearing into the night.

He hears someone clapping, a distance away, and he knows it was Kazakhstan, congratulating him for getting a kiss on the cheek.

“You  _ need _ to ask him out on a date.” Comes Kazakhstan’s teasing voice, but he ignores it, staring at the running Minguk, leaving for school.

His friends  _ are _ right.

He  _ is _ lovestruck.

-

He leans on the walls, dumping his dead cigarette on the ground, stepping on it with his shoes. He’ll snuff out his target’s life easily like that cigarette.

(This is what he’d become- after all those ‘trips to enlightenment’ as Soviet put it, he turns into the monster he was meant to be: unnerved of who or what he was killing, from dead cigarette butts to dead men he had shot in the head.

The problem with this target is that it’s moving and he has to try killing them as clean as possible.)

He scales the walls, as he tries looking for his target along the walls- he wants this done quick; the sooner the better. He was not feeling killing someone today, but he cannot bend the will and rules of his caretaker, the one who had given him life; and now he will do the same, unleash the destination of death upon the person he wishes for him to murder.

It doesn’t matter if they are innocent or not- what matters is the price Soviet will give him, content with a thousand dollars or a buffet for him and only him.

He’s learned the rules of the game now, and how to play; he either loses his price of glory or one of his targets will have to have a bullet in the head, their family forever dreading the fact that they are now gone from this world, only a memory in their heads.

(His mother is a memory now, too, and he doesn’t complain- especially after he realised he’s left  _ Mori _ to rot out there.)

Does he feel remorse?

He does - he  _ really _ does - but no one seems to believe him. None bat an eye to how he was suffering, day and night, of being called a ‘cold-blooded’ monster by those that had been squashed by his feet. None bat an eye at his suffering, when he wakes up in a cold bed at night because his nightmares contain all his victims, and his mother, standing with them, hands folded upon her chest, a disapproving scowl on her lips.

(‘But I did what I could, mama!’ He remembers himself screaming, kneeling before her like she was the queen of the darkness inside of his heart.

His mama only glares at him in response.)

He makes his way inside the make-shift castle the owner - also known as his target - calls his ‘home’- he can feel himself suffocating, as he blends in with the walls and servants around him, all busily serving a rich man who probably has no regards for the poor and reigns with an iron fist, thinking of them as slaves he bosses around.

Mongolia holds the gun in his pocket tightly, as he crams himself to every nook and cranny, his eyes following and watching his target, who walks to his room, unhindered and unaware of his incoming death; the final countdown.

When his target slowly slinks back to his own room (there is no name for the poor man except for ‘target’, because that is what he is now), and his red eyes glint in predatory triumph, making his way to the room, slowly but surely, gun at the ready, ready to shoot and get this over with.

The maid finds her master’s body later, limp and bloody, all over his desk.

Mongolia slinks into Soviet’s meeting room, like he was always there and that he had gotten back from a bathroom break. He catches his cousin’s eye, looking exhausted with himself with whatever the hell his adventures were.

(Probably buying Soviet a pack of condoms for another one of his nightly ‘encounters’ with Renmin- everyone’s been snickering about it behind their backs.)

He takes a seat, craving a solid pack of cigarettes, wanting nothing more but to go to one of the bars and drink and smoke until the night wastes away- until he remembers he is in limbo forever and ever and in debt to Soviet for all eternity. Oh god, he can feel the cigarette stick on his mouth as he fumbles for a lighter in the cold, inhaling and exhaling as smoke fills his lungs- he should be suffocating but instead he is revelling in nicotine.

Then something - or some _ one _ \- catches his interest; a young boy, more or less just his age, sitting between Renmin and Soviet like he was their adopted child. He has a skinny physique (but soon Soviet will whip him to shape-  _ literally _ ), his dark blue eyes darting around, searching for something, his dark hair covering most of his eyes.

The new boy seems to be out of the picture- never there in the first place, never even destined to be dining and spending time with the royals like Renmin and Soviet, the kings of the castle, fists of iron ruling this cursed place.

He elbows Kazakhstan, his eyes still on the new boy, looking like his world will be shattered to a million places once he finds out about how the world can easily be bent; how the rules are never easy to follow and how it will never be the same for him.

“What is it?”, Kaz asks, irritated.

“Whos’ the new kid?” Kaz spares a glance at the new boy ( who was fumbling with Soviet’s eye patch that he had given him, meekly staring at Renmin and weakly answering his question)- before going back to cleaning his priced pistol like a souvenir he had collected from his journey.

“Oh, that’s Daehan Inmin”, he replies, tone clipped- evidently having no interest in the newbie, unlike Mongolia, whose fascination streaks for him even further. “He was recruited here just today- said that he would do  _ anything _ to find his mother. Got his tattoo right then and there, and now it seems that Soviet has a new lapdog.”

He wants to approach him- to tell him that he’s lost his mother too (only permanently), and that they have a lot of things in common (they do not but it is worth a shot, just to socialise with the newbie). So that this new kid will come out of his shell, learn to love the entire mob like his own family, disregarding old alliances and blood relatives.

(Inmin did disregard his old family- he changed his name to ‘Choson’ signifying that he doesn’t need his brother and uncle anymore, forever bonded with Soviet and the mob forever.

Mongolia had congratulated him, along with others; but he feels strange.)

-

“So this is Minguk’s home?”, he asks Kazakhstan over his phone, as he squints into the quaint little apartment down the streets. He scratches at his smooth-over hair (Kaz’s suggestion) as he tries not to drop the bouquet of red roses his cousin bought for him- he can be serious with this ‘asking out’ thing (he remembers his cousin’s infamy around being a ‘wingman’, as his cousin proudly calls himself).

(Curiosity got the best of him- he asked Kaz to look more into Minguk’s profile, so that he can surprise him with something his cousin has been suggesting him to do all along: ask Minguk out on a date.)

“Wow Mon, you think I can  _ see _ where you are?”, Kaz teases sarcastically, “whatever the case, yeah you probably are- all you need to do is knock on the door and ask Minguk out.”

Mongolia gulps down his anxiety, “You make it sound so easy.” It truly is, now that he thinks about it; knock on the door; when Minguk answers he tries the most charming smile he can muster (he doesn’t know if he can smile the way the other teen does); give him the bouquet of flowers; then ask him when he’ll be free this week.

It sounds  _ so easy _ , so  _ simple _ \- but his moves are limited and his social awkwardness is climbing through his veins and overflowing his mind with anxious thoughts.

(‘What if there’s something between his teeth?’

‘What if Minguk’s not even home?’

‘What if he only sees him as a friend? Even if he kissed him it must be platonic!’)

He hears Kaz sigh, “Mon, I know you’re feeling anxious and scared.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” He tries to mask his ongoing anxiety and paranoia- he stumbles on the concrete road but he finds his footing immediately. “What if he doesn’t like me  _ that _ way?”

“Judging from the looks he gives you, he is totally into you.” Kaz hangs up, leaving Mongolia to face oblivion all by himself, his eyes on the quaint and simple home in front of him.

He takes a deep breath, thinking that each might be his last, as he fixes his hair and suit. Waves of anxiety clash with waves of confidence, each battling for dominance- each step feels like they are quicksand, slowly sinking him ever-so-slightly, making him suffocate. It didn’t take long for him to reach the front door, tempting - threatening - him not to knock on the hard plank of wood that divides him from his destiny.

Mongolia takes a deep breath, looking at the screen of his phone to see his reflection, and ultimately cringing- he looks like those rich motherfuckers he usually kills, and that wasn’t a joke.

(Minguk might find him dashing, of course, but only to him will he know his true colours.)

He - softly - knocks on the door, expecting Minguk (he’s rehearsed all of his lines inside his head- now he fears stammering), only for the door to open with an older man standing in front of him. The man in front of him looks a lot like Minguk - his father, he presumes? - his dark blue eyes glaring at Mongolia, dark hair smooth and shining beneath the light cast in the house.

The words Mongolia wanted to say evaporates at once- never there at all.

He raises a suspicious brow at the newcomer, “May I… help you?” His dark eyes glint dangerously, his eyes flickering scrutinizingly over Mongolia’s suit and bouquet.

He clears his throat, “Um, I’m looking for… D-Daehan Minguk? Is he around here?”

The older man’s eyes flare, “Who are you and what do you want with my nephew?”

Mongolia is completely taken aback by the man’s over protectiveness- even his glare is making his legs  _ shake _ , and that has never happened before, in all his lifetime (with the exception of Soviet and probably Renmin, but this is a complete  _ stranger _ he is facing).

A familiar voice inside the house snaps the both of them out of their - rather one-sided - standoff, “ _ Samchon _ , what’s taking so long? Me and Shanghai are  _ starving _ !” Mongolia can feel colour rising on his cheeks, as his legs start to shake from getting to see  _ him _ .

A second later, Minguk and Mongolia are face-to-face, with the former looking surprised and delighted, while the latter was sweating to the point he’d probably dampened the entire suit with his own sweat.

He tilts his head to one side, “Mongolia? What’re you doing here?”

_ Ask him out already, fool _ ! The voice in his mind supplies, as he instinctively hides the bouquet of roses (that Minguk probably already saw when he ran up to the door) behind his back- he glances up at Minguk’s uncle - his glare is  _ really _ dissuading him - and back at his destiny, who was staring at him with a puzzled and surprised expression.

“You know this man?”, his uncle asks Minguk, who nods.

“He’s my friend- he owns the cafe I usually go to,  _ samchon _ .”

“Strange”, the older man’s dark blue eyes trail up around Mongolia, a snake creeping quietly towards his prey, “I saw him in a  _ poster _ somewhere.”

He swallows down his fire (oh  _ god _ his uncle knows he’s a wanted criminal-), as he gives Minguk a - wavering - smile, giving the bouquet of roses out to him.

“Uh, I know this is kinda abrupt”, he starts, his mind flailing for words to hopelessly put into his ‘speech’, “but I know we’ve only met for like… a few days? A week? But I think I like you already, and, uh, I was wondering when you’ll be-”

“I’m free on Saturday”, Minguk interrupts, eyes shining like lapis lazulis in the dark sky, as he looks at Mongolia with stars for eyes, colour rising on his cheeks, his lips red. “I like you too, Mongolia.”

The other one smiles, completely ignoring the glare Minguk’s uncle shoots at him, “I really like you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Proshu proshcheniya- excuse me
> 
> Malen’kiy- little one
> 
> Mori- horse
> 
> Angli khel- english
> 
> Namaig uuchlaarai- i’m sorry
> 
> Chi ch bas- you too
> 
> Eej ee, bi aij baina- mama, i’m scared
> 
> Rebenok- child
> 
> Moy uchenik- my pupil


	12. Things Are Better If I Say, "So Long, And Good Night" (so long, not goodnight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Funerals, figuring out your partner's a pedo, implied infanticide, Ameripan's totally not-a-date, and Soviet and China angst- what more is there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name Guide:  
> Koku Nippon- Japan  
> Teikoku Nippon- Japan Empire  
> Sulian- Soviet Union  
> Renmin- People's Republic of China

Canada - pointedly - stares at America (who was busily  _ looking _ at her reflection and humming a song), stirring distractedly at his coffee mug, his eyes pinned on his older sister flitting around subconsciously. His brothers were also just as puzzled too, their eyes on their sister as well. She was constantly looking into mirrors more often, like she has someone to prove to- or someone to  _ impress _ . Whatever the case, it is definitely leaving its mark as she occupies more of her time checking her appearance.

Canada is the first to break like a dam being destroyed by water, “America, what the  _ hell _ are you doing?”

“Oh, getting ready for Manchukuo’s funeral”, she replies - not looking at him - applying lipstick on her lips while she looks at her reflection in the pocket mirror.

(The only time she had gotten over-the-top for a funeral was at their father’s; dressed in ebony black from head-to-toe, wringing her hands together as she emptily looks at her father’s grave- knowing her heart is just as empty as that casket.)

“W-why are you in a dark gown?”, New Zealand sputters as he wins another bet against Australia in the sports game they were watching (they’d usually take the remote and flip it on the sports channel and start shouting scores, until even Canada joins in and creates an entire ruckus in which America tries to tune them out by lighting up a cigarette and putting her earphones on).

America - annoyingly - sighs at them, turning around to face them as she tightens her hair in a bun, her freckles like a thousand sunbursts lighting up in the darkness. “Didn’t I already tell you? Japan invited me to Manchukuo’s funeral!” Her tone was impatient, like she was eager to finally attend to one of the saddest truths of life.

Australia’s dark blue eyes flit up and down her dark dress, satins flowing in the wind. “You seem…  _ eager _ to attend a funeral.”

Once his statement sinks in, America deflates all at once- the smile she has on her face wilts like the carnations she had left to die in her garden, her hands going limp as it tries to coil her golden hair into a bun, her light feet that had flitted around her office suddenly trembling from the weight of her body. Her green eyes still held some defiance- the eagerness and hope spitting fire from underneath her eyes.

“I’m not going to laugh at Manchukuo’s dead body, of course”, she states nonchalantly, as she fixes her hair once again, golden snakes coiling around one another.

“Well, what are you going to do there?”, Canada asks, questioning her authority.

She looks back at him, a strange glimmer that is abruptly crushed with shining intent,

“To investigate, of course.”

Once she leaves, Canada gets a call from the telephone down the hall- he greets the person at the end of the line formally, with a generic greeting of sorts.

“Hey Canada”, comes Philip’s familiar voice- although it was much more hoarse and softer, no trace of his familiar defiance anywhere.

Canada’s eyes flare, “Philip! You’re three hours late for work!”

He feigns a cough and a sniffle at the end of the line- his throat was plaguing with sandpaper. “Sorry boss, but I can’t come to work today.”

“...Why is that?” He narrows his eyes suspiciously.

There was quiet in the other line- a crime scene finally being left alone by the vigilante. “I was sick last night - even now too - to the point I slept like the dead.”

He ends the call- leaving Canada warily eyeing Philip’s file.

-

A young man silently sits at the front of the reception, biting his lip as his grey eyes stare at three young boys crowded by the coffin’s side- taking turns looking at their father’s corpse inside the coffin. He felt the urge to apologise to them; after all, it was his fault that the only family in their entire lives are now gone and his soul scattered to the winds. There was sadness in his eyes, as he reminisced about the time where Manchukuo had - tried - helping him with all of his struggles.

(But he never helped him- rather he watched from a far distance as he got abused and misused by Teikoku, a sneer never leaving his face.)

Yet no matter how many times he had tried to make him feel sad for the bodyguard’s death, there was nothing there- no tears left to cry, no sadness left to mourn, like it had all dried up like a river during drought, forsaking all of its inhabitants, leaving them thirsty for the rest of the season.

He watches the children looking over their father’s coffin with an unreadable expression, once again feeling sorry for their father’s abrupt death, his life cut short just when he was growing into a marvelous tree. Then out of the corner of his eye, he spots a man in dark and shaded clothes making his way to the casket, out of everyone’s sight except for him. Koku fixes his glasses, thinking it started to give him fever dreams, but his blurry haze still stares at the man shrouded in dark clothing, making his way.

He stands up, grey eyes intensifying as a fire is relit- as he follows the hooded man down into the reception, his eyes only on him. He silently treads through, mind giving him the courage to face him, reminding him that he can fight, even without his bodyguard’s help. His feet are light, as he makes his way towards the man without being seen, eyes remaining on him with a terrible fury.

As he grows closer, he lifts up his hand to unmask the intruder-

But he turns on him instead.

Stormy grey eyes are met with shining golden eyes, the stranger’s jaw tightening, his dark brown hair escaping through that overly large hat he keeps on his head. Koku raises his eyes towards him, both in a silent standoff- two lions going in for the kill.

“Who are you?”, Koku was the first to speak, trying to keep his voice solid and stiff against the private walls bridging towards the gardens, where Manchukuo’s funeral is being held. “And what are you doing here?”

The stranger stays silent, trying to bide his time and try to lose Koku just from the sheer boredom of him being unresponsive.

He frowns up at the intruder, his hands inching slowly for the gun in his pockets, biting his quivering lip, dreaming of the standoff his brother has told him to prepare from time to time.

The intruder stares silently at him, before his golden eyes break formation, a wall collapsing. He sighs ( _ So the statue lives _ , Koku thinks to himself)- his eyes never leaving Koku. He tilts his head to the side, before opening his mouth. “I just want to talk to Manchukuo’s children- they seem lonely without their father.” There was a veil of guilt in his eyes, talking slowly and cautiously like he was casually masking the fact he knew Manchukuo more than as an acquaintance.

Koku snorts, “And I hardly believe you; so if you do mind, go on your merry way and away from us, please.”

The stranger frowns at him, his golden eyes now somewhat familiar- he remembers a cascade of a chandelier falling down the floor and scattering shards of glass, gunshots ringing about the venue as screams pierce through his ears, and there it was, the golden eyes that murdered Manchukuo brutally after the latter seemed to treat the whole discourse more as a family reunion of sorts.

The screams and gunshots fade, as Koku remembers he is now back in a somber and monotonous setting, as the world pulls him back to the present. He gasps as he stumbles, being caught by the stranger’s hand, pulling him up and back with his stable feet. His dark hair falls over his eyes, and he stares back at the intruder, suddenly putting two and two together.

“You’re the person who murdered Manchukuo”, he breathes, stormy grey eyes growling thunder and streaking lightning all over the entire gardens, as he grits his teeth towards him. “You murdered him when his guard was low!”

The stranger gives him a rather strange look, tilting his head to the side, “I’m sorry, but I want to talk to my nephews right now.”

Koku’s eyes flare, “‘ _ Nephews _ ’? You were Manchukuo’s brother  _ and _ murderer?!”

“Sulian was the one who delivered the killing shot to my brother”, he replies, his breath hitching, his face a second away from clearly delivering his guilt. “I didn’t do it.”

“You have  _ no _ right to be here.”

“Please- I want to protect my brother’s right to rest in peace and take care of his children.” His eyes shift beyond Koku, and he follows his eyes towards Teikoku, busily impressing a few of his colleagues with a story of his. The stranger’s eyes darken, feeling the world around them growing ice-cold. “I doubt your brother would care about them.”

(He can’t help but feel like the stranger is right- his brother will never show mercy towards them rather than show compassion or kindness a proper child would need. If Teikoku had free reign over the children’s lives he’d end up selling them all to slavery, away from everything he knows.)

He lets the stranger go, as he slowly sneaks up to the three young boys at the coffin, looking befuddled at the sight of a man shrouded and covered in everything that shows nothing but void.

A hand finds its way to his shoulder, and he shivers at the contact, turning- only to find his bodyguard, dressed in all black; but her green eyes show the youth of life and that sometimes life is beautiful.

“How are you today?”, she asks, and in an instant he gives her a small smile, his eyes still on the stranger- trying hard to find what is truly right in this world.

Her hand finds its way on his formal suit, and he takes it, “I’m fine- just overwhelmed at the sight of our bodyguard dead.”

She feigns pity- faking her tone of sadness and the mourning in her eyes, because deep in her heart she knows she will never truly replicate the sadness in the garden that is supposed to be full of life.

(And that’s what hurts him the most- the fact that everyone is here for only the banquet or paying respects to a man they never know, telling Teikoku that ‘ _ it was such a shame he died _ ’ or ‘ _ your favourite bodyguard- dead _ ’ and now he truly wants to scream at how they do not know him- they do not know who he truly is. But a question is stuck in his mind, being harvested out in the open with the others,

Did he know him as well as his children?)

Her lips find his ear, warmth flooding his insides- as he feels her soft lips carefully trace his own ear, his breath shaking as his hands find her dainty fingers, dark hair swishing to the side of his face. Her deep green eyes show him a mist of emotions, her hot breath on him.

Then her lips find his cheek, and leaves the softest of kisses- a very soft kiss that made his legs feel weak and the entire world imploded around him, a thousand stars rotating towards him, free-falling in his direction.

(He’d say he’d  _ never _ wash the side of his face where her lips found its mark- but that is what thirteen year-old boys would say and he is not a prepubescent boy in need of brand new shirts.)

“What was that for?”, he asks America, but she was off trailing to one of the hallways- he resigns to follow as the last of her dress disappear into the darkness; a grip on his arm stops him, and - surprised - he turns to stare at his elder brother, crimson red eyes glowing with intent.

“We need to talk”, he hisses, and his heart plummets down to the icy depths of the cold and murky water once again plaguing his heart.

-

It is rather safe to say that All is Not Well with him and Sulian. Every time he is around him, after that tiny (‘ _ It is not tiny _ ’, he had said to Mongolia) situation exploded and spiralled out of control, with hundreds of his (and Sulian’s) mob members arguing on who is right and what is just (‘ _ Soviet didn’t truly mean to cheat on Renmin _ -’ ‘ _ It’s about time he finally got over that family-killing asshole _ -’ ‘ _ What Soviet did was wrong _ -’ ‘ _ Cheating on the person you allegedly love is horrible _ !-’).

The cracks are forming, but it will lead to the mirror shattering inevitably.

Renmin blinks back the tears shining in his eyes (he thought he had no more left to release after last night, his sleepless tirade leaving him a shade), as he makes his way to a somber setting that is comparable to his mind right now.

He forces his mind to go back to a happy memory - before Soviet Union ever came to his life and introduced him to the mob - where he and his brothers were merely soul-bound with each other, not enemies, blinded by what life gives to them (not when life  _ took _ something from them). He remembered his mother, looking at him with light in her eyes- like life has something more to offer rather than take what matters most from her; he remembers the way his older brother would look at him like he was the jewel beneath the earth’s surface- like he was special back then.

(He thought Minguo would always look at him like that- like they have the entire world in their palms, that he will always prioritise him over something as foolish as love, as business, but alas: they are meant to be brothers that vy for power, forever and ever.

Minguo disappeared one day; and he never came back.)

There was a sting in his injured eye- the one where he can never truly see again after the immoral scar Minguo had cast upon him. Luckily he also had removed that bastard’s eye, so they are one and the same, blood brothers but at the same time enemies.

(“ _ An eye for an eye _ ”, he said to his brother a long time ago, as Minguo shrieked in pain and mercy, before running away like a coward.)

Now, he thinks that the same thing will happen to his and Sulian’s bond- broken by some  _ girl _ that his beloved had taken fancy upon… what was her name again?  _ Ost _ ? 

(Even thinking about her makes him grit his teeth- what does she have that he doesn’t?  _ Assets _ ?)

He clears his mind, taking a deep breath- he will have his answers later, once Soviet stops being a coward and reason to him why he picked a whore over  _ him _ .

But first: he will have to meet his nephews- they are now alone in this world, all because of him. He feels his guilt grow deeper inside of him, a burning fire kindling inside him as he makes his way towards the coffin where his brother now takes refuge in- his soul somewhere in the depths of the galaxy, now being at peace. His eyes land on three children taking turns peeking at the body of their father; looking like he is in his solitude, tranquil and serene.

Renmin’s eyes swallow themselves to the guilt residing deep within him, a wildfire causing an inflammation in his throat- he has to take his chances, to finally get to talk to the boys whose lives he indirectly ruined.

He clears his throat, and three pairs of brown eyes are on him- both holding the same question, their eyes shining with curiosity.

“Who are you?”, one pipes up- the closest one near his father’s casket, mistrust lingering in his eyes.

The other two are quick to turn their curiosity to doubt, their brown eyes glaring daggers at the stranger. Renmin takes another deep breath, trying his best to suppress the guilt inside him.

“Your father never told you about me before?”, he asks in a rather happier tone, giving them all a small and welcoming smile. “Well, my name’s Zhongguo Renmin - Renmin for short - and I’m your father’s brother. Meaning: I’m your uncle.”

Their eyes light up- believing that he truly is their guide to heaven, their delighted smiles proving the fact that they will always trust those who try and act close to them, forever and ever.

(They remind him of…  _ himself _ , back in the days of innocence and naivety.)

“Really?!”, the second one pipes up, brown eyes shining in delight and excitement. “Don’t you see, Jilin, Liaoning, someone’s come to  _ save _ us!”

“I don’t know, Heilongjiang”, says the third one, scratching his head, “but the fact that he only appeared  _ now _ seems very fishy to me.”

The elder looks at the three children, who dreamt that in all their lives they will be saved from someone on the outside, someone who will look and care for them- looking forward to looking at the world in a new perspective. He gives them a small sigh, looking around and seeing Teikoku still busily chatting away, but now at his brother, who does not seem to like being in the same surroundings as he.

“Your father never told you about me because he was afraid”, he replies, tone crisp, “he feared your safety, since my company has been Teikoku’s rival since the dawn of time. This is why when I heard your beloved father was dead, I was shocked- shocked at the fact that the only time I get to see him are in headlines, and then I felt guilt; guilt because I did  _ nothing _ to help him nor his sons.” He kneels down (he feels more guilt than shock, honestly), biting his lip as he meets his nephews' eyes. “I’m sorry it took so long for us to meet. I don’t know when we’ll truly meet again, but here-” He gives each of them a handful of money, and they look at it, enchanted. He stands up, putting his hands towards his pockets, as he looks over to the direction he had spotted Teikoku and Koku earlier- only to find no one there. He looks back at his nephews, “I’ll try keeping in contact with you three, but for now, this is goodbye.”

Without another word, he trudges back into the hallways, turning his head back to find them counting the money he had given them (he smiles a little- he remembers the time he had handled money quite fondly as well). His smile fades, however, as he hears a young boy’s voice (more like the voice of a boy hitting the roughest stage of life), call on his sister with a rather familiar name.

“Ost! Come quick- Papa wants to see you!”, a boy - merely the age of fifteen - walks around the hall, his dirty blonde curls covering his vision. Renmin immediately leans next to the walls, as the boy walks past him, busily searching for his sister.

Golden eyes turning into golden daggers, as he tries to imagine what this ‘Ost’ would look like… dirty blonde curls reaching up to her waist- glimmering eyes full of want and desire- hourglass curves; but he stops as the person he is following stops at a young girl, just her age (messy dirty blonde hair; glimmering green eyes full of childish innocence; body covered with a sweater and a plain skirt reaching up to her ankles).

He cannot help but stumble back at a girl so young- is this really  _ Ost _ ? The girl responsible for tearing his and Soviet’s bond apart?

He blinks, thinking it was a dream, and the girl in front of him would turn into a woman that has been plaguing Soviet’s dreams.

But when he opens them, he is still faced with a young girl and her twin bickering.

_ Oh god _ , he thinks, realisation striking in him like thunder,  _ he’s using this poor girl to get what he wants _ .

“Ost, where have you been?”, her twin asks, clearly worried for her- Ost, meanwhile, scrunches up her nose as she texts someone on her phone a farewell, before looking back at her brother.

“I’ve been standing here all this time”, she replies impatiently, tapping her foot, “also Papa doesn’t care whether I get killed or not, okay, West?”

He sputters, “But-”

She glares at him, “No buts, West. You interrupted my conversation with my boyfriend.”

Renmin’s heart stops, as he turns his shock into anger- not at Ost, who was naive in thinking that Soviet will ever love her (he doubts Sulian loves her outside her looks and innocence) but at the man trying to forsake their love, trying to replace him with a  _ child _ .

Feeling sick to his stomach, he quietly turns away from the twins- nothing is ever the same, nothing is perfect anymore, his love for Sulian is a lost cause, because he now has his eyes set on a young girl, a predator lurking in the shadows as he waits for the perfect moment to take a bite of her.

Feet light as he skates through the floors like it is ice, he leans on another hallway, breathing silently, in fear that other people might hear, he tries to collect his thoughts; his three nephews without their father… Ost, not a working girl but rather a naive schoolgirl… and Sulian -  _ his _ Sulian - is a disgusting man who wanted nothing more but to taste a girl decades younger.

Fear (for Ost), anxiety (for his nephews), disgust (at Sulian).

He wonders what Ost did to deserve this- deserve getting the eyes of a mob boss on her; and how even Renmin fell from his intimate graces.

(God, it  _ hurts _ \- the hurt burns through his skin like it will forever scar him and everyone he touches, the star that used to glow inside him now dimly lit, threateningly bursting out light. He can feel the tears trying to fight with his will, his hurt stinging deep inside him; he is no longer  _ Sulian’s _ .)

Then he hears two voices- one the hiss of a snake and the other so soft to the point he cannot hear (unless he cranes his neck, but that would mean he will get caught).

“They’re  _ children _ , Teikoku”, Koku hisses, arms wide in exaggeration. He must be talking about Manchukuo’s children, since the only children - aside from Palau and Okinawa - are his nephews. He peeks at the hallways, Teikoku standing calmly as he disposes of his cigarette, completely ignoring Koku’s chastising. “You can’t just throw them out the streets and expect them to  _ survive _ !”

Teikoku shrugs, unfazed by his brother, “If you wanted them to ‘reunite’ with their father, might I suggest I  _ shoot _ them, so that they will be at peace with their beloved father?”

Renmin grits his teeth, his fists clenching and unclenching- the fact that Teikoku brought it up in such a calm and collected manner is enough to make him sick. He had known all about him as a diabolical asshole who had no care for whether everyone in his group lives or dies; all he cares about is himself, the King of his pride. His golden eye glints with anger and one of his hands roam back towards the gun he keeps on his pocket.

(He has every right to end this bastard’s life right here, but he thinks to himself, didn’t he and Sulian also do these types of shit?)

Koku stares at him, a horrified expression on his face, “You can’t just murder them! They’re children and they deserve to live their life to the fullest-”

“You promised me that you’ll get Ost to like you at the end of this week”, Teikoku seethes, changing the subject, and Renmin leans over - out of view - to see the two brothers in conflict. The elder’s fingers dig deep into Koku’s shoulders- the younger grits his teeth as he glares into Teikoku’s crimson-red eyes full of hate and abominable spite. “She seems to be focusing more on her  _ phone _ rather than  _ you _ .”

“Look Teikoku, I’m  _ trying _ ”, he replies between his teeth, his stormy grey eyes locked on his brother- gaining the upper hand, a lion winning a duel against his fellow friend.

(Renmin thinks Koku truly isn’t trying- it seems that he doesn’t want the girl, unlike Sulian.)

His brother pushes him towards the wall- letting Koku stumble down to the floor, his glasses dropping to the ground. Before the latter can pick it up, however, Teikoku steps on it like it was a mere bug, shattering glass everywhere, in front of his brother’s shocked and horrified eyes. His brother shoves him back against the wall, picking up a glass shard, pointy enough to do damage, and aims it right at his eye- close enough to let Koku know the gravity of the situation he is in.

“Well try harder,  _ brother _ ”, he spits, and lets his brother go, dazed- he goes back to the reception, crimson red eyes bleeding and craving for murder.

Renmin leaves the scene, feeling pity for the poor boy looking at his ruined pair of glasses (with a newfound hate for Teikoku)- but his mind is on someone else right now; someone who was supposed to be by his side until their respective deaths.

_ Sulian _ . 

-

She struts into the hallways like she was the queen of the castle, hot on the trail of Teikoku’s secrets- secrets that can finally be released into The City and reestablish its peace. Her tongue can taste those documents now- old and musty but functional to what her goal truly is.

Her mind goes back to the stare Koku had given her after she had given him a parting gift- his pale cheeks rushing with blood, dark hair shining in a brighter light as his stormy grey eyes erupt and make way for the sun, his glasses reflecting the joy he had felt when she kissed him.

It was nothing but a ploy, really (is it truly a ploy?).

America finally figured out what Koku’s weakness truly is; affection. That boy seemed deprived of it in his entire life, like there was no sun shining and trying to penetrate the stormy darkness that had descended to darken the entire world.

She can’t help but feel pity for the poor boy; sooner or later she will have to leave this god-forsaken home and family to go back into the past, with her brothers and friends, mingling in the police department as everyone takes turns planning on what to do in Australia and Villers’ wedding.

Then she feels the familiar plunge of her stomach- like her mind doesn’t want to go back, waiting for a cataclysm of events to follow in her wake, until she is ready to come back, now with someone on her side.

(Why is her mind always giving her conflict? Why can’t she just be happy with her brothers and friends- her  _ real _ family?)

“America?”, she silently grimaces, turning around to see Palau all in dark clothing, her gold eyes staring up at the older woman.

She gives her a - forced - smile. “Palau, what’re you doing here?”

The younger girl gives her an ‘Are You Serious’ look. “I  _ live _ here.” She deadpans, smoothing over her dark hair, looking back at America with a freckled smile. “I just wanna escape the sad mood out there, and luckily enough, I bumped into you.”

America’s smile grows tighter, becoming more impatient. “I’m sorry, Palau, but I have work to do today.”

Palau’s smile immediately falls, someone dropping bricks at the poor girl's body, “Oh, okay- well, I’ll be going now.” She dejectedly walks to the opposite direction, sparing one last glance at America before completely vanishing back into the funeral.

She can say she wasn’t guilty of pushing the poor girl away- but she is; waves of guilt starts to crash into the dam she had created, but she carries on, avoiding those cameras that litter the hallways while she tries to look for the hallway with the room of all Teikoku’s secrets. As the cameras search for the intruder lurking around the hallways, their singular eyes look for a sign of suspicion and reason to tell Teikoku what her plan was.

As she takes twists and turns, zigzags and curves, her eyes roaming around every direction for some kind of clue- a kind in which they get to tell her everything they know, from where the rest of Teikoku’s family went, and how he rose to fame and excelled on it.

(Ever since getting hired to serve in the department, she had looked at every single newspaper to know how and why Teikoku Nippon grew famous- from the drenched magazines she had to sport out of the rain, to the ruined and crumpled newspapers, and even to torn, forgotten posters featuring Teikoku’s greatness and whatnot.

She tries solving this mystery every time it comes up.)

She stops when the hallways with haunting, flickering lights come into her view- smiling like she had just won a price, she glides lightly on her feet, trying to make as little noise as possible, one of her hands slinking down her pockets, palming the cold silver metal of the key she stole from Tokyo.

(That man was penetrable to a girl’s wiles- one single kiss is all it takes to freeze his body, her hands seemingly caressing him; but instead she took the key to open oblivion, hanging so vulnerably on his pockets.)

With a small smile, she inserts the key into the lock, transitioning so smoothly into the hole, turning it a little; once the door opens, a tiny squeak comes out; in an instant one of the cameras hanging about the hallways pivot to the corner where the noise had come from-

Only to find a closed door.

The entire room was dusty; many old furniture and books and documents are scattered around, some torn and ruined while others are covered with dust and forgotten in the darkest of corners, dusty portraits of a few other members of the Nippon family lying around.

(She wonders who in their right mind would hire a painter to paint a portrait- there will always be photographers and the immortality of a picture inside each of their pockets.)

America takes a step forward- only for her shoes to come face-to-face with a pseudo-portrait of Teikoku, during his teen years (‘pseudo-portrait’ because it looks more like a tarpaulin rather than a portrait). He had messy dark hair, crimson red eyes and a stern frown. She can’t help but take a step back, like his face was familiar and it has been plaguing her nightmares- and the fact that when he looked so much like his younger half-brother in his youth.

Steeling herself - knowing that there are more disturbing things around here - she takes a step forward, coughing a little at the dust that has gathered around the entire room- neglected and forgotten.

She picks up a few torn papers, examining each and every single one of them, only to find scraggly handwriting written across yellow and thinning papers:

‘ _ Tokugawa Shogunate’s company has gone bankrupt _ -’

‘ _ Edo - mother of Tokyo and Teikoku - gone missing _ -’

‘ _ Shanghai and Nanjing are mine now _ .’

‘ _ Kyoto was a special case _ -’

She hones in on the second-to-last passage on one of the yellowing and dusting papers- where had she heard those names before? Well, other than Shanghai, who is now spotted in the care of Imsi, but there was more to that woman rather than being held captive against a much darker force. She turns her phone on so she can message her brothers (to light up the entire room too).

**< America>:** Find out what you can about Shanghai and Nanjing- where they came from, their professions, before they landed into Teikoku’s hands.

Her eyes land once again on the torn piece of paper with Kyoto’s name- Koku’s mother, who seemed to have an even more complicated history towards Teikoku and Tokyo rather than her own son, who seemed to be stuck in limbo, trying to grasp the fact his mother is dead but at the same time not letting all his memories about her fade to the winds.

She takes another step into the room, dimly lit by the sorry windows covered by torn pieces of newspaper headings (she briefly skims over their headlines- and realises these are old news, decades deep into the past). Her eyes trace over a torn newspaper, her fingers clasping on an old yet familiar locket; a golden lace dazzled with pearl beads, clutching a small heart-shaped box.

She pries it open… it doesn’t budge.

Swearing to herself, she turns to one of the old newspapers scattered around the room, and stares at the picture of a pretty young woman with dark hair and eyes, tattoos on her hands, smiling brightly at the camera.

America remembered her.

Ryukyu Kingdom; one of the most influential companies last decade- The Bridge to All Companies. She was the boss of a rather popular trading and shipping company (but evidently has ties to a mob clan)- and her prime sponsor was Ming until he ‘mysteriously died’ (unfortunate suicide) and is sponsored by Qing. She was about to get married to Malacca (another of Ming’s vassal companies).

And then she vanished- out into thin air.

(Suddenly, she wonders how and why her son’s files crossed her desk- then she remembers her father was the one responsible for sharing all the information regarding the Nippon family.)

Her fiance was despondent- he did not leave his room for an entire day before putting up Missing posters of his soon-to-be-wife, interrogating Ming, Qing, Joseon, and anyone else that Ryukyu had been in contact with, but in the end his sons told him this was hopeless; as the Missing posters Malacca had put up were torn, forgotten, or replaced with ‘recent’ news.

(Then he too went missing, along with his children after their company went bankrupt- a ‘Portugal’ was responsible for their disappearance.)

Qing was next to act; he had also put up Missing posters and did weekly visits to the police department, but to no avail. When he went bankrupt and weak, however, he stated he had finally found Ryukyu, but he had died before he disclosed on her current whereabouts.

(A day later, the entire City is in jeopardy as his sons wreak havoc and divide up territories for their own gain.)

She opens her phone once again and takes a picture of the woman.

**< America>:** Find what you can about her.

She spots a pile of rolled up and crumpled letters in the corner- she picks up one of them and smooths it out, dust floating around the corners like they are fairies waving their wands and showing her magic like never before. The handwriting was messy- but readable, except for the fact it is all in Japanese. Like trash, she crumples it once again, and takes out a - sealed - envelope from the pile- with a rather familiar name on the seal.

_ Deutsches Reich Jr _ .

_ Weimar _ , her mind supplies, as she casually tears the envelope open to read its contents, the handwriting in formal cursive, doodles of butterflies around each corner of the letter. He had an excellent penmanship- now she had to wonder what happened to it, based on the few letters she had read that came from a Weimar seemingly going mad each letter.

_ Nippon Teikoku, _

_ I am looking forward to seeing you this year at the party- bring your brothers too! Father thought I would never get a friend, but wait ‘til he sees you and me casually making a conversation! That’d be a big slap to his pompous face! I want to talk to you about my butterflies as well, and how they can be used in…  _ **_situations_ ** _. _

_ Yours truly, _

_ Weimar _ .

She rereads the letter once again, trying to compare this letter’s writer to the notorious and rather eccentric young father of two children, who had given America poisonous smiles whenever she got in his way. This letter’s writer was eager, excited, socially awkward and rather naive, his worldview never getting punctured by life. Meanwhile, the new Weimar she had encountered during her visits was strange, peculiar,  _ unnerving _ .

(She can even feel those green butterflies around Weimar watching her, paying attention to a single movement she does.)

What happened to Weimar?

America’s eyes glimpse of a picture hidden deep in the envelope, and she takes it out- two teenage boys were staring back at her; one had emerald green eyes and a lopsided smile, the other crimson red staining his eyes, no smile lighting up his face. She flips the picture, showing a small note from Weimar.

_ P.S. you left this on your bag- I would like to return it to you to remind you we’re good friends! _

It seems Teikoku’s feelings for Weimar were not the same.

These may all be compelling evidence to Teikoku’s past, but they are not proof of what he is doing in the present.

She hears the door immediately open; her ears must have blocked out the signs of footsteps or voices, and now she ducks underneath an old chair that sports books and other documents.

“You little whore”, the young man spits, seething with rage (perhaps because he just realised now that she took his keys away from him), “come out come out wherever you are.”

His silhouette starts to roam around the room, and America huddles deeper into the darkness so that he would not spot her that easily. Miraculously, she finds a pathway covered in dust that leads into the room’s open door- she only had to crawl against the dusty and musty documentations, but she is not complaining.

(Except for the fact that she is allergic to dust- so while she crawls and her nose tingles once she comes to more contact with dust, she prays to the deities that she believes exist not to make her sneeze, especially when Tokyo is intending to murder her.)

When she finally reaches the hallways - covered in dust and smelling like old books - she immediately closes the door, and locks Tokyo in using his own key. She immediately hears him banging on the door, shouting and demanding to be let out, but she only smiles in reply (not that he would ever see) as she struts out into the gardens, brushing dust off of her hair.

Her eyes land on Koku first- sulking silently, leaning against the walls as he stares into nothingness; gone was his will to live, his grey eyes showing nothing but emptiness.

(Why is it whenever she pops into a new surrounding with Koku lurking in the background her eyes always seem to navigate back towards him?)

Then her green eyes land on Palau, her small figure being draped by an older man’s coat (a man who looks close to Koku’s age- she can’t very well see since he was wearing a trench coat). She looks uncomfortable, even with that forced smile on her face.

That must be the man she is about to be married to.

Her insides are now filled with distaste, as she navigates her way towards the thin reception to catch up to Palau and that stranger- but she was stopped by a large hand’s grip on her shoulder (harder than Koku’s softer and daintier one), she swivels to find Teikoku sneering at her, crimson red eyes laced with hate.

“Heard Tokyo getting locked up in a room”, he says, brimming with poison. “Said he got locked up by  _ you _ .”

“He locked himself up by mistake”, she replies nonchalantly- she has no time for his  _ bullshit _ . “I tried prying it open, you know; but the key seems to be stuck. Oh well, he must have turned it the other w-”

“Stop talking”, he snaps, his eyes on her dust-covered hair and dress. “Because I know a liar when I see one.”

America meets his red eyes, full of defiance. “I know a soulless man when I see one.”

His eyes flare up in anger, poising to humiliate and hit her in front of the crowd, but a hand snakes up America’s waist- this one smooth and soft, no traces of being hardened into metal.

“Teikoku, me and America are going to the mall”, Koku says coldly, his hands up to her shoulders in an almost protective manner (she tries not giving the both of them a suitable reaction- only giving Teikoku a straight face). “I do hope you and my bodyguard aren’t  _ fighting _ .”

His brother’s mood immediately turns to an unsettling smile- no trace of sincerity nor genuine happiness. “Not at all.”

Koku nods, as he carefully brushes the specks of dust on her hair- his grey eyes are now flecked with delicate affection (for  _ her _ ). “We’ll be going now.”

Without breaking a step - and holding her hand - he leaves the funeral (with her following), along with a lion staring at his prey with a giant smile on his face.

-

“What happened to your glasses?”, she asks, her arms linked around his, not looking at him at all, and instead at the advertisements and billboards scattered around the landmark.

He gives her no satisfaction of a reply, his mood souring once again, his face clouding with memories- of Teikoku having the audacity to push him into whatever he must do, to his glasses being broken, and now to Teikoku holding one of the glasses’ shards tantalizingly close to his eye, and him fearing for his life, believing that he will die in a matter of seconds.

But of course, he knows his brother too much.

He will never let him die without the pure taste of torture.

(Hadn’t he been tortured enough? Being locked inside a dark cell with nothing but a stack of book until only last year; seeing his mother die in front of his eyes like she was merely a dead animal in need of killing-

Maybe that isn’t enough.)

He hears America sigh from beside him, her fingers twining on his arm tighter. “Look, I don’t really care about whatever transpired between the both of you, but whatever it is, it’s got you hella pissed.” She finally looks at him, green eyes flickering. “And I don’t like that scowl on your face- I’d prefer you looking like nothing bothers you.”

He scoffs snidely, his day seeming to be soiled by a storm. “But I don’t feel like smiling or doing anything that  _ doesn’t _ bother me today.”

“Well, what do you do when you’re slightly pissed off at your brother?”

He wrings his hands together, “I don’t know. Maybe relax somewhere far from him?”

She gives him a small smile, “Well, we’re going to relax far away from him.”

Koku smiles slightly in return, the sun returning back to the sky as he looks at her, “Alright- let’s go grab some food, yeah? I’m starving.”

She chuckles softly, and he can feel his heart splitting into tiny bursts of light, spreading his joy to the deepest parts of his soul- a great reminder that she was the current star in his life right now. “All right, what’s your suggestion.”

His eyes light up as he glances at a ramen restaurant. “Ramen.”

“Of course”, America deadpans, and he laughs playfully.

The smell of ramen immediately calms his nerves down, as he and America make their way to busily crowded tables, full of families deciding on their order - one even wanted an undoubtedly extra spicy bowl of ramen - he can feel his hands skirting down to brush on the other’s warmer hand, her eyes completely on the restaurants interior; its golden lights lighting up the room in an enthralling manner, the smile on her face amplifying as she comes across a group of boys eyeing her hungrily (his fist clenches), then at the sound of bowls clacking in a melody.

“Hey Pan, I found a vacant table with just enough seats for only us”, she says, and they sit down from across each other, palming the menu dutifully resting beneath their fingers.

As he and America decide on their orders (he was feeling miso ramen right now), his eyes would usually roam back to America, her face hidden under the menu like it was a fan hiding all of her bedazzling beauty in the entire world- and he wanted to look at that beauty like she was a jewel hidden deep underneath the ground, waiting to be found. Whenever she peeks occasionally at Koku (seems that she sensed something is afoot), he pretends to be perusing and skimming the menu.

When the waitress comes and asks them what their order was sweetly and with a smile on her face (there was a twinkle on her eye when she looks at the both of them), they recite their orders in a monotonous voice while she writes them down.

“Will that be all?”, she asks, sweeter this time- now with a smug smile.

“Two glasses of water please”, Koku answers, trying to bite his tongue from demanding why she has that smile on her face.

“Alright.” She looks back at them before sauntering off, “enjoy your date, you two.”

Koku sputters a little, his eyes growing wide with disbelief at the thought of them so brazenly dating in plain sight (he’d rather with the both of them kissing in his room- not because he  _ wanted _ to kiss her), his cheeks searing red with embarrassment. He turns to America, whose mouth is gaping like a goldfish trapped in an aquarium, her eyes on the kitchen’s doors- her cheeks were going ruby red, just as flustered as he is.

(He can almost read her mind- ‘Us?  _ Dating _ ? Impossible!’)

He feels embarrassed for America’s sake- the fact that it was  _ possible _ for them to be dating rather than Koku tiptoeing around each other like dolls being toyed around by a celestial force was… a few possibilities out of a thousand, and they don’t really end well in his mind.

(How can they end in a fairy tale-like manner? Everything he does will be detected and investigated by Teikoku like some underdeveloped Disney villain in need of attention.)

They spend a few minutes shrouded in silence; Koku biting his lip as he tentatively glances at America, who was busily - emptily - examining the menu on her fingers, her cheeks still searing red from the statement the waitress had made about the both of them.

Maybe it’s time for  _ him _ to break the ice this time.

He clears his throat to get her attention, and her eyes flicker to him.

“I was wondering”, he starts awkwardly (he is useless when it comes to starting conversations), “why Teikoku seemed angry at you a while ago.”

She clicks her tongue, her painted fingernails glowing beneath the light. “Oh, you know- he accused me of locking his brother inside the room where I was forbidden to enter.” She looks so calm, casual at the fact that she had come face-to-face with the apex predator. He wishes he could have her moxie and courage when it comes to facing his brother. All he could do was cower and play along to his plans. She meets his eyes, her forest green eyes glinting with emeralds. “How about you? You’re not wearing your glasses now.”

His fingers immediately brush towards his eyes- he takes the diversion to brush his hair away from his sight. “Oh, he destroyed it. Said he can buy me a new one, of course.”

She furrows her eyebrows, her eyes shining with a case of ferociousness towards his older brother (his mother sometimes gives him that kind of stare whenever he misbehaves), “Well, why did he break it?” She’s prying him open, he knows, but every time he looks at her he gets lost and mistakenly tells her all his secrets, a fly caught in a spider’s web.

He absent-mindedly stares at the lanterns around the place, the scent of steaming ramen already relieving him of stress and whatnot. He was poised to tell her the truth- the truth that he wanted Koku to finally get Ost to love him (he feels disgusted at the thought that he had to  _ like _ a young girl), but something is stopping him.

(Whether it be his growing suspicion of where America comes from or Teikoku’s red eyes gleaming in the night, he’ll never know.)

So, he lies, “He accidentally stepped on it when he was greeting me in a surprising manner.” The lie was lacklustre, unlike his other lies- his other lies will warp into something he can finally believe truly is the truth rather than lies he made so that he can save himself from insanity.

He’d rather believe the lies than the truth, if he was being honest with himself.

America peers at him- not really believing what he said, thinking there was more to that, but she goes back to staring at the properties of the table they are sitting on. Then she takes a deep breath, “What are  _ you _ like?”

He blinks, confused, “What do you mean?”

“Well, do you ever feel like you’re…  _ different _ from Teikoku or Tokyo? Something like that.”

He shrugs, still unsure what this question really means. “ _ All _ people are different from one another- even if it’s Teikoku and Tokyo. The latter is more sensitive than the former, and more into deeply understanding situations at hand- it’s why Teikoku needs him, even if he seems like he doesn’t care about everyone in his way. Well, not like he really  _ cares _ about Tokyo truly, but… you get the idea.”

She seems to be deep in her thoughts, fishing for small answers here and there, as she stares back at Koku. “Like… he only needs Tokyo for his gain to power?”

He nods, “Basically. Now, about me, I don’t think you’ll find anything interesting about me.”

She smirks, and the heat on his cheeks starts to spread back like a plague, “Oh? But I found you much more interesting than your half-brothers.” Her hands clasp his, and he wheezes out a breath to calm himself down from her hands’ ghosts, her warmth spreading deeper until it takes seed within him. “I’ve never really seen your face until only last year, when Teikoku finally got exposed by the media about the whereabouts of your mother and her son.”

(It was a true story; when she was busily arguing with Mexico on the phone about her kids, her eyes are glued on the screen with the news host - unashamedly - calling Teikoku out about the whereabouts of Kyoto and Koku- it was one of the only times his calm and poised mask was deliberately pulled off his face to find a fidgeting man, trying to find a perfect excuse to the question. His demeanour still feels unsettling, but she found pleasure in seeing him break into sweat.)

_ Because I was being imprisoned in the basement _ , he wanted to say, but couldn’t- Teikoku had made it clear that once he gave him the blessing to be free from darkness and watching  _ nothing _ play out, he made him promise to never speak of the musty and cramped basement.

(He can still sometimes feel his own bony hands clawing at his sore and raw throat, trying to amplify his croaking into shouts so that they can hear him- but they never do, turning blind eyes and deaf ears to his suffering, so he should do that to himself and others as well.)

“He just… sent me away to boarding school”, he makes up an abrupt lie, hoping to throw America off, but instead she frowns.

“‘Boarding school?’”, she repeats, “I thought you’ve been home schooled ever since you were a child.”

His blood runs cold, as he finally realises both the lies have contradicted each other- parallel lines that collided with each other to create an even messier situation. He racks his brain to find a clear answer to her statement, silently swearing to himself at any given possible vacancy his mind uses to get what he wants.

“T-technically not a boarding school, of course”, he stutters, as he pleads for their orders to be served, starving and not willing to answer any more of her questions. “I was home schooled of course- but my tutors were also insistent on bringing a few of their students so…  _ technically a boarding school _ ?” He can feel his mind chastising him for such a clear lie, but it’s the best he could do.

She doesn’t look so convinced, but thankfully enough, she changes the subject. “Don’t you ever get bothered at the fact that a lot of people compare you to Teikoku - in terms of appearance, of course - or the fact that people think you  _ are _ Teikoku until you tell them you aren’t?”

He did not take time considering. “Yeah, it frustrates and annoys me a lot. Well, I don’t blame genetics of course— it’s not my fault Teikoku was born with a big and flaming ego.”

The statement makes her chuckle, as she gives him a small smile — a smile big enough to make him thunder-struck. Her eyes can calm the storm inside of him any day, presumably.

“I really like you, Koku”, she says sweetly - albeit it was too sweet in his taste - and his heart detonates into firecrackers, electrifying everything his heart touches.

“I like you too.”  _ As a friend, of course _ .

(It also keeps him up at night- the fact that he looked so close to the man who ruined his life rather than the only person he truly loved.)

As the waitress returns with two bowls of ramen for the both of them, he gives her a sweet smile as he inherently digs in, sneaking a few glances at America  — who was struggling a little with her chopsticks until she got the hold of it  — tentatively giving Koku an embarrassed glance before digging in, the silence between them thick but comfortable.

(He wants to spend more time with America in a non–dangerous environment, away from the prying eyes of Teikoku.)

-

Renmin was evidently angry at Sulian.

(How  _ dare _ he use him as a pawn- how  _ dare _ he try harming a poor girl- how dare he how dare he how dare he-)

He stomps on the catwalk to his and Sulian’s shared home - also one of the most frequent meeting points of their mob - signalling the guards lining up at the gates that one of their masters is home. When they take one glance at his bloodshot eyes and expression made to kill, they immediately open the gates for him, staring at their owner who was now storming off to Sulian’s room, a lion ready to kill.

He was furious; not for  _ his _ sake - he was humiliated in front of their own mob too - but for  _ Ost’s _ sake. She did not deserve getting a thirty year-old man following her every movement, even going as far as telling her he loves her, all for his pleasure and amusement.

(She must’ve been so lonely to the point she’d let a stranger come to her life and woo her with promises of love.)

He can feel his hands tingling, eagerly waiting and counting down to the moment where they will slap the fuck out of Sulian, right on his pretty face that would smirk with pride. The servants and maids steer clear of him, his fury projecting into shards of glass that might puncture their skulls just for his entertainment.

When he finally reaches his and Sulian’s shared room, he doesn’t knock (one: they both share the room and two: the bastard doesn’t deserve politeness nor courtesy)- rather, he slams the door open, almost making Sulian drop the weights he was lifting onto his feet (he’d rather see that than the smirk he was about to give him).

Sulian turns to look at him, ingenious smirk and all, and Renmin could not help but be mystified of his looks; the way his blonde locks would always fall to his eyes, his matching gold eyes shining with absolute love, and the teasing smirk he always gives him before it turns to a more affectionate smile.

But he will not be distracted by his physical appearance anymore- especially when he found out the person he loved was a pedophile preying on little children.

“Come to apologise?”, he asks teasingly, and it makes his anger flare up to the point it burns his entire world.

He does not respond; instead, he walks up towards Sulian, who thought he was about to kiss him- he got a hard slap on his face instead, the sound of it reverberating across the room, as it leaves a red imprint on Sulian’s cheek.

His look of surprise gives way to aghast and outrage. “What the  _ hell _ was that all about?”

“You’re a sick fuck”, Renmin exclaims, his voice low and solid, speaking through gritted teeth. “You go and cheat on me with a  _ fifteen year-old _ girl?! What was in your head when you were thinking about her?! What about  _ me _ ?!” There were tears shining in his eyes, now once again thinking about himself and his future with Sulian.

Now there would be no more future with the both of them together, hand-in-hand.

Sulian only gives him an empty look, before speaking. “Renmin-”

A golden ring was thrown on his face, signifying their engagement- and now the end. He stares at it absently, and at the man who was now walking out of his life. Renmin wipes away the tears of hurt and heartbreak that he had bottled up during his walk towards their own home. He turns back, as the both of their eyes meet.

“The wedding’s  _ off _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos will always be appreciated! ^^


	13. Can You Save My HeavyDirtySoul?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imsi gets the butterflies for Shanghai, Renmin doesn't know what he's doing, America and Japan are in a totally-not-date, and cliffhanger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name Guide:  
> Daehan Imsi- KPG  
> Daehan Minguk- South Korea  
> Zhongguo Renmin- People's Republic of China  
> Zhongguo Minguo- Republic of China  
> Koku Nippon- Japan

Imsi really enjoys Shanghai’s company.

(He ignores the tightening in his chest whenever she smiles up at him or talks to him- they are simply friends, is all.)

Minguk seems to tolerate her presence even more — and gives the two a knowing glance — which made Imsi relieved; the three of them can have tea together in the living room as Minguk does his homework, Imsi does his work while Shanghai would read anything and everything on Imsi’s bookcase.

(He would sometimes look back at her— the way her eyes are so focused on the book and how she would gleam in satisfaction, how nimble her fingers were as she turned to another page. Of course, he shakes his head off of thoughts about her.)

Usually, she would make herself feel at home in his office, as he does his work while he is aware — unfortunately — that Shanghai is watching him and his hands fly across the keyboard, trying to make sense of what he is doing. Sometimes she’d help him, and once she took control of the keyboard, he was sidelined to the corner, but his eyes would never leave the woman, her eyes narrowed in concentration and her body prepared to do much work needed for this to be pulled off.

She was — and always will be —  _ beautiful _ , in her own way— a glimmering pearl beneath the ocean wrongfully taken away… he wonders if he’d come back to take  _ her _ away ( _ No _ , he shakes that thought out of his head,  _ that isn’t possible. I won’t let him take her _ .). He wonders why every time she would turn and look at him, he would get speechless— lips pressed into a thin line, his dark eyes shining with compassion and affection for her.

Every time her fingers linger too long on his skin, he goes red- which was rather peculiar, as Nabi, Minguk, and even Jeguk’s touches have not made him react like this.  _ Strange _ …

What is wrong with him? She was just a friend, and he does not want their friendship to end just because of his new and unusual feelings for her.

Why is he even acting like this?

“Are you okay?”, Shanghai’s face is pressed up against his, and he immediately lurches back from shock— either from how close they both are or the fact that his brain instinctively tells him to lean back… for some reason.

His face is also warm (and he swears that Shanghai can see that he is also  _ red _ )— but how? And  _ why _ ?

He sees Minguk stifling a laugh on the corner, but he tries ignoring what his nephew is thinking about as he looks back at Shanghai, looking so worried for him. His heart was beating— loudly, and rapidly, like he was running for his life. Even his breathing is hitching, especially whenever he looks at Shanghai like she was a saint sent from above to him.

He shouldn’t talk about her like that— she was a normal human being, like him; but  _ why _ is he acting like this around her?

(They are only friends— why is his mind showering her with such favour and respect?)

Swallowing his social awkwardness, his eyes meet Shanghai’s, “I’m fine, thanks for worrying- now where were we?”

She bites her lip, clearly unconvinced, but she backs off— and so does the warmth she had shared around him.

(Somehow, deep in his mind, he starts missing it.)

Minguk howls with laughter— for what, he didn’t know, and won’t bother asking his nephew about it. He looks back at her, her eyes on the book she was reading, and his mind is certainly — definitely — pulling him towards her. He can see himself putting an arm around her shoulder, and he doesn’t know why his mind supplies him with that image — he rarely does that to her — as long as she is comfortable— and he doesn’t think that he should pull that level of intimacy with her.

(Just  _ friends _ .)

She excuses herself out of the living room— to the solace of her bedroom, for some reason (perhaps of the awkward silence that followed), leaving Imsi with his nephew, who was now scribbling notes onto his notebook, looking at his workbook and taking a sip of his tea.

He remembers how Minguk had howled with laughter just a few seconds ago; taking a deep breath, he trudges towards his nephew and plops himself down beside him. He doesn’t take notice of this, of course; instead, his eyes were still on his studies.

(Even when he was asked out on a date by a rather highly-suspicious stranger a few days ago, his mind is still on his studies.)

“Minguk, do you know what’s happening to me?”, he asks, turning to face his nephew, who looks up from his work and at him.

He pretends to think for a moment, before grinning mischievously, “I dunno, samchon— it seems that you like her.”

Imsi blinks— well, that was something he did not expect to come out of Minguk’s mouth; it is quite obvious he likes her— as a friend, of course. “Of course I like her! She’s my friend!”

His nephew sighs, before turning to another page of his workbook. “You seem really oblivious of your feelings, samchon— I meant you  _ like _ like her, more than as a friend.”

His uncle only blinks once more, a stranger to love (despite the fact that he had witnessed Jeguk and Nabi casually kiss, and Minguk be asked out on a date by a stranger). “...Best friend?”

“Are you doing this on purpose, samchon?”, he asks tiredly as he flips to another page of his workbook, clearly keen — and eager — to answer all of these by the end of the day. “You seem to be denying what your feelings are trying to tell you.”

“Look— I’m not  _ good _ at deciphering my feelings; you already know that. Your parents knew that.”

“Me neither, samchon, but what I’m telling you is that… you’re starting to like her— the same way Eomma and Appa did.”

Silence lays thick between the two of them, as Imsi tries to process what his nephew had just said— what Minguk had hypothesized to his newfound feelings for Shanghai. Part of it can’t be true— that he’d grown feelings for her, but part of him believed that he really liked her; the same way Jeguk had loved Nabi. He shakes his head, his mind feeling light like he was only made of air, no traces of his brain ever existing.

But his mind tells him that this can’t be  _ possible _ .

In all his life, he had always relied on Jeguk to help him make friends, from childhood and adulthood (and now he’s gone, gone with the happiness he remembered feeling); how Imsi had felt uncomfortable to the thoughts of… well, whatever Jeguk and Nabi does when they’re alone.

(Although, he did not give consideration to the fact that maybe, just  _ maybe _ , he’d wanted a chance to be in a relationship; he’s been alone in all his life to the point he thought that his mind had closed down on the prospect of a relationship along with sex.)

In his youth, he’d always been the prime opposite of his brother— where Jeguk was social and able to make friends, he’d crouch to hide from some of his peers as he reads a brand new book he had dug up from the library; where he’d been the calmer one who would think before acting, Jeguk would be the short-tempered of the two and acted before thinking; where Jeguk was falling in love with the new girl, he had been watching them, a thought creeping up his skull as he watches them kiss every time—

No— that thought is wrong; he still has his family, no matter how fractured it may be.

(‘ _ You will always end up alone _ .’)

There was an incident, when Jeguk - finally - got him to play with his friends at a party where only  _ Jeguk _ has been invited (‘ _ You have a twin _ ?’, one of his friends had asked). As the girls were off trying to get the attention of the boys, he and Jeguk ended up with a bunch of rowdy boys ogling at the posters of half-naked women (to his dismay, Jeguk’s lips were curled into a smirk as he entertains the fantasies of his friends) and they all play ‘Smash-Or-Pass’.

It had been a horrible night.

Every time the boy’s eyes redirect to him whenever it was his turn to tell whether he… wants to do  _ it _ with the half-naked girl they were ogling and fantasising about, or he’d rather plunge deep into his humiliation; he would say felt uncomfortable with this game and that he doesn’t see the appeal of thirsting after them.

Much to his embarrassment all of Jeguk’s friends (he will never classify them as  _ his _ ) had called him a prude, and his brother shoots him an apologetic look.

(‘Fuckin’ prude!’

‘Probably has no balls which is the reason why he ain’t liking’ the girls.’

‘He has no life other than those books.’)

“I’m sorry about what my friends said to you”, Jeguk had said as they walked home, with Imsi’s eyes on his feet, too busy thinking to even know that his brother was talking to him. “I shouldn’t have made you come.”

(‘ _ Damn right you shouldn’t _ .)

“Jeguk?”, he calls, his eyes still on the ground, not wanting to meet the remorse and pity his brother’s eyes had for him.

“Yeah?”

“Is there——”, he grits his teeth, forcing himself to look at his twin- a man he hardly ever knows but also knows all of his secrets and personality, to a man who he tried to be but in the end failed spectacularly. “Is there something…  _ wrong _ with me?”

Jeguk bit his lip— a mere sign of hesitation, wanting his words to be careful and smart (he doesn’t need to be encouraged— he needs the  _ truth _ ). “There’s nothing wrong with you, Imsi— you’re just like all other boys. And me.”

“But why don’t I feel anything whenever your friends shoved those posters of women near my face? Wasn’t I supposed to…  _ feel _ something for them?”

His brother gives him a sigh, “Look, not all boys function the same way as my friends do. Maybe you don’t like the women the same way they did.”

“Well, the only thing I feel is that sex is disgusting. And appalling.”

Jeguk stops in his tracks, and he turns around to look at Imsi, whose hair was messy, and his eyes threatening to spill tears (he bites his lip). “Where did you get that?”

His twin shrugs, “I don’t know- ever since we got to the stage of puberty I never found the appeal for sex——”

“Maybe you just lack the social skills”, Jeguk cuts in simply, bluntly.

Silence befalls upon them, as his brother finally realises what he had just said.

Imsi’s eyes sharpen like daggers, as his lips are pursed into a thin line. “ _ What _ ?”

(Why are you so offended? It’s  _ true _ !)

Jeguk’s eyes widen like saucers, as he shakes his head. “Imsi, I didn’t mean it like that——”

“You meant it like  _ that _ ”, his brother replies, glaring at the half of his soul, the only one who would have understood all his thoughts. “You think I don’t know? You think that I chose to be the ‘socially awkward’ half of the two of us?! I didn’t!”

“I didn’t  _ say _ anything about that!”, Jeguk grimly replies, his guilt turning to anger. “I didn’t  _ mean _ to make it sound like that!”

“Oh really? You told my friends that I’d ‘rather kiss the pages of my books than let a girl kiss me’.”

Jeguk opens his mouth, his eyes full of horror. “You…  _ heard _ that?”

He grits his teeth, tears spilling down his cheeks (he had always been the more sensitive of the both of them). “I was looking for you and there you were, talking to your friends about your ‘socially awkward’ brother behind my back. I forgave you silently, of course, since you’re my brother.” His eyes slowly meet Jeguk’s, darker and veiled with anger. “Perhaps that was a mistake.”

“I did protect you, didn’t I?”, Jeguk snarls, his eyes showing the possibility that he might cry- cry over what, Imsi doesn’t know. “I’ve always protected and helped you, ever since we were kids.”

“Well”, Imsi throws his head back, still glaring at Jeguk. “I don’t  _ need _ your ‘protection’ and all that shit, I’m you! You’re me. And from here on out,  _ I don’t need you _ .”

Without looking back to see if Jeguk is following him, he walks away, to a much different route, back to the library, where he should have been for hours up until midnight— finding solace in the different pages of books all around him, the smell of dusty pages calming him down.

(A month after their argument, Jeguk gives him an ice cream cone; rule number four of their childish set of rules— and he apologises. It was genuine, and it mended Imsi’s heart and embraced his brother, the half of his soul.)

“Samchon?” He snaps out of his trance, as Minguk looks at him with a rather confused and worried look, his brows furrowing.

“I’m sorry.” He stands up, making his way to the kitchen— his hands are now ready to make another batch of tea for his rather stressed mind. “This is too much to even think about.”

“Why?”

Imsi lets out a deep breath. “Because I thought I’d shunted the feeling of actually liking someone  _ that _ way— because I had always thought sex is disgusting… so is carnal love, then?”

Minguk lets out a  _ tsk _ , “Not all people like sex in their relationship, samchon.”

His uncle gives him a warm smile in return.

(Because it was the same thing Jeguk had said to him to keep him going.)

* * *

Renmin — admittedly — has no idea what he was doing.

(Well— he did steal Soviet’s car, deposited a large amount of money from his bank, and drove as fast as he could until he reached Manchukuo’s old shoddy apartment, and took — kidnaps — his late half-brother’s children.)

And now he is being chased down by men-in-black-and-in-motorcycles. He knows Sulian —  _ no _ ,  _ Soviet _ — had put them up to this; trying to chase down the rogue who had dared slap the man he was supposed to wed, but now plans have changed— he’s trying to get as far from Soviet as he can, with Manchukuo’s children with him.

(He can still see Manchukuo’s horrified look whenever he looks at one of them— he clenches his teeth and looks back at where he is supposed to be driving, as there is no time to mourn what he had done.)

“Who are we running from,  _ shushu _ ?”, asks one of the three — Liaoning? — and he bites back a rude remark that might make them distrust him even more.

(If they ever found out that he was involved in their father’s murder, his ties with them are now  _ severed _ .)

“Just— bad people who want me”, he replies, tone clipped as he starts trying to maneuver his car — it’s now his since he stole it from Soviet — and glancing at the mirror every so often, seeing those two familiar figures chasing him down.

He  _ needs _ to lose them.

Turning to a street with different cars in traffic, he swerves from left to right, never bothering with the cars honking their horns angrily at him (he can even see a driver giving him the bird), as the police men littered around the streets and alleys record his speed (which was — suffice to say — too fast for them to even count), and give chase as well.

Swearing under his breath (and hoping that he would lose Soviet’s men  _ and _ the police chasing him), he maneuvers to a much narrow alley— although he had to regulate his speed, he loses the police cars indefinitely as they drive past his hiding place. He lets out a sigh of relief; which proves to be short lived as the two men in bikes gear up on him, and, with swearing loudly under pressure (he hopes the children won’t imitate it), he steps on the brakes and tries to drive faster and faster.

Adrenaline courses through his veins, as his eyes narrow towards the bridge that connected Pangea to Gondwana, hoping to himself that he could lose those two in them. Of course, the bridge was still miles away, but he believes in himself that he can make it— for the sake of his nephews and for the sake of himself.

(He is also quite aware that Soviet had put a tracker in all his cars— he makes a mental note to try to remove those later.)

Driving as fast and as agile as he can, he swerves past shops, houses, apartments and cars, disobeying the stoplights (he has no time to follow law and order when two of his old comrades are chasing him)— he peeks every once in a while in the rear view mirror to see if they were still trying to catch up with him—

And of course they are— one’s even got a gun pointed at him now.

Renmin blinks, then looks back at the rear view mirror.

_ Shit _ .

He hears a gunshot sounding behind him; immediately all of his nephews hug each other, scared out of their wits, thinking that the end is near and that they might even join their father in the afterlife.

(He refuses to let them think like that— like they have nothing to live for.)

From one of the side view mirrors of the car, he sees one aiming at him— then shooting, only missing him an inch, as if the winds had decided to give him a chance on a new life. Taking a deep breath and praying to whoever may listen to him, he steps on the fuel, speeding down the road like it was an icy lake on a cold winter morning.

However— one of the two went ahead and blocked his direction (he swears as he redirects the car, sending his nephews rocking back and forth at the back- they  _ are _ wearing seat belts). That meant the steering wheel is now out of his control — he screams obscenities at the two perpetrators — and once he got a hold of his most favourable steering wheel he tried to outsmart the two by reversing direction and going to another crowded street.

Once again, he gets mildly to very irritated drivers trying to have a peaceful life- only to bump into a speeding car that was  _ probably _ over the speeding limit, and two guys in a bike chasing him down (‘Must be the police’, he thinks they would say). Biting his lip, he finally casts a glance at his nephews— too shaken up to even gather that their uncle was looking at them worriedly.

“Are you three okay?”, he asks in a rather nurturing voice, in hopes that it could help them relax, but before they can answer another gunshot is heard.

“W-were fine”, sputters the boy at the center- Heilongjiang. “But Jilin wants to vomit.”

His brother glares at him, “I do  _ not _ !”

Before Heilongjiang can retort, they hear another gunshot sounding behind them, and through gritted teeth, Renmin speeds down the streets like he was running for his life.

(Damn right he is.)

“I’m sorry you had to be involved in this”, their uncle says hurriedly as he speeds down a narrow and one-way road, not giving his nephews any sign that he cares— but of course he does, he murdered their father, goddamn it. “The person chasing me down is a bad man.”

“I can see that”, Liaoning says, as he sits up at his knees and looks back at the two men chasing them down— before yelping and fumbling with his seat belt. “They’re very scary,  _ shushu _ .”

“Well, they don’t scare me— I  _ knew _ them.”

“But why are they chasing you down if you knew them?”, Jilin innocently asks, his dark brown eyes showing emotion.

Renmin bites his lip— he doesn’t say anything else as they all lapse into silence, the only sounds is the car gaining speed and the gunshots; it almost even hits the glass. “Don’t worry, once we get to the next city I’ll buy you food.”

That was enough to make all of them sigh of relief (and Heilongjiang’s stomach grumble). “We’re hungry now.”

(‘ _ Do you  _ want  _ me to stop and surrender to them _ ?’)

“Not to worry”, he tries — futilely — to reassure them, “if we just…  _ lose _ those assholes.” He didn’t mean to swear— once he realised what he just said he clamps his mouth shut; of course, the children have already heard him.

“What does an ‘asshole’ mean?” one of his nephews asks (he didn’t have time to look back at them to see who asked).

“It means a bad person”, says another, clearly acting like a know-it-all.

“Well, you’re an asshole”, a third voice pipes up.

Before he could tell them he does not condone potty mouths, another gunshot sounds and the veering of a bike engine, and so he picks up his pace, his body collecting sweat as he tries so hard to lose them. He puts a hand beyond the open window of his car, and flips them the bird (hoping that his nephews wouldn’t see — and replicate — it); gunshots ring out, trying to shoot his hand, but in the end he puts it back inside.

“ _ Shushu _ , when are we gonna eat?”, Liaoning asks, his huge dark eyes shining with dreams of hunger and food prevailing. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too”, Jilin chirps.

“Me three!”, Heilongjiang pipes up.

“When we get there”, Renmin replies through gritted teeth, as he veers into another street. He hopes he didn’t sound hard on them— he knows that even they have been through a lot and truly deserve a meal.

(Who knew how many days they went starving?)

Every time he thinks he loses his two perpetrators, they end up appearing in one crevice and corner in front of him and he backs up as he pivots to another direction, making his nephews hurl and feel like they are being chased by bad men. He knows who the two of them are now; Mongolia and Choson Inmin— one was hesitant, always giving pause when they ultimately corner him, and one is much faster on his bike, his aim so levelled while still moving.

It means that he is still safe— even if Tengri is a little hell-bent on killing him, for some reason.

(Was it the times Renmin had raided his room, took all his boxes of cigarettes because he is too lazy to buy his own from the dozens of stores littered around their hideout?)

(That is… quite petty.)

“ _ Shushu _ !”, Jilin’s distracted voice snaps him into the present, and in front of him was—

He hits the brakes, sending him leaning forward to the point he must have seen heaven and hell reuniting, the sun shooting out flares in a fit of rage, blisters of orange and red mixing together like a bloodbath.

Renmin looks back to find his nephews toppled forwards (thank god they were wearing seatbelts) looking so green— except for Jilin, who was already vomiting on an open window (Renmin silently wanted him to vomit on Soviet’s car). His vision was cloudy— like the sun had taken its time enveloping itself in a fog so thick that all he could see is mist. He blinks as he hears the sound of two people behind him, the sound of bikes being parked near him. His head hurts and he doesn’t move an inch— the pounding has gotten too much to bear; a dozen cuts circulating in his head.

“Heya.” He turns to the windows to find Mongolia grinning down at him, his face looking satisfied.

Renmin scowls at him, “What do you want from me?”

His old friend shrugs, eyes shifting towards Inmin, who was struggling to get off his bike. “Sorry Renmin, boss’s orders.”

Renmin gets out of the car, stumbling a little, his legs wobbly— he looks back at his nephews, so nervous for him and their lives, but with a stern look he tells them to stay in the car as he confronts his old steadfast allies. Trying to look like the intimidating mob boss he once was, as he glares right through Tengri— dark eyes swirling with mischief.

“Weren’t you going to hang out with your new boyfriend?”, Renmin asks acidly, “or did you decide to follow the leader?”

The other’s eyes spark with dangerous flames, as he grits his teeth, swallowing back his fire once he sees that Inmin is now trying to join the conversation.

“Weren’t you supposed to be planning a wedding?”, Mongolia shoots back, clearly seething, his hands in his pocket. Renmin instinctively digs his hand into his pocket as well, retrieving his gun that he had just reloaded. “Or were you busily trying to look for your other eye?”

Renmin’s eyes flare, his fists clenching. Before he can retort, someone gives him a quick hug- he glances down and sees Inmin, eyes clenched shut.

He doesn’t hug back; he has no extreme warm feelings for the other boy, whose delusions suggest he was his second father figure right next to Soviet— however, he sees him as an annoying brat, nothing more and nothing less. When he doesn’t hug back, Inmin awkwardly breaks off, averting his gaze and biting his lip. Meanwhile, Mongolia was staring at Renmin’s three nephews, his face cold and hard like stone- a sign he is trying to think clearly.

“Never knew you had kids”, Inmin supplies, but he peers at them closer, eyes narrowed. “But they look more like—”

“Manchukuo? Yes, because Manchukuo  _ is _ their father.” Renmin supplies, looking straight at Mongolia, who stares back at him, this time with an unreadable expression- before relaxing back into his casual expression.

“Never thought that you’d have a soft spot for kids”, he muses, “because  _ you _ were the one who taught me how to smoke in the first place.”

“You  _ imitated _ me!”, Renmin defends, “I didn’t offer you a cigarette!”

“You didn’t stop me from smoking them!”, Mongolia retorts, “you were— ”

“You think I’m a good example?”, he shoots back, veins burning and bursting into flames, “why would you blame me over your  _ obsession _ with cigarettes now?”

Tengri looks at him curiously— before looking back at Inmin, who was standing awkwardly in the corner, looking like he had wanted to stop the fight from happening but in the end the argument had stopped by itself.

“Look, we were chasin’ you down ‘cause we want to help you”, Tengri says, crossing his arms, “not my idea— it was Inmin’s.”

Renmin looks at Inmin, who steels his resolve once his companion has mentioned him. “Soviet called us first— said he wants us to bring your head back and be put on a pike.” He rearranges his hair, “But I think you don’t deserve that fate. So we’re gonna try and get you over to that bridge before Soviet knows we helped you rather than kill you.”

Renmin’s entire skin grows cold— how could Soviet send assassins after him, wanting his head on a pike as a warning? He tries to remember his old lover’s affectionate gaze on him, his tender arms enveloping him as they are both lulled into a deep sleep, back in the days where all Renmin could think about was Soviet.

The same man who now wants his head on a platter.

“I was his- his—”, Renmin blanches, trying to find proper words- but still attempting to look invulnerable to his allies, “you know.”

“We know”, Mongolia deadpans. “Do you know what the reward for giving him your head is? Getting Ost’s virginity for free.” Renmin wants to vomit as he said that (the girl did  _ nothing _ to deserve this), Mongolia looks vaguely disgusted, and Inmin shakes his head, disappointed. “I’m not interested in some chick, so even if I’m not fond of you, I’ll help you get outta here.”

Renmin frowns. “But  _ how _ ? Soviet’s got a tracker in my car so that means he can track down all my movements-”

“Don’t worry about  _ that _ ”, Mongolia snaps, “worry about getting your nephews out of here!”

His eyes flare with determination. He was right- he shouldn’t care about a stolen car and a murderer trying to catch him, he should care about his nephews, deserving more than what they got.

(He wonders if his other half-brothers have children of their own too.)

“All right”, he nods, “how do I get me and my nephews across without your guys tracking me down?”

“Is your car one of the new models Soviet bought?”, Inmin supplies, “because if you go  _ over _ the bridge, some will be able to spot you, but if you go  _ under _ … you’ll be able to leave Pangea scot-free.”

Renmin’s eye lights up, “Okay, that’s a great idea Inmin! But where would I———”

“Don’t worry about that for a moment”, Mongolia interrupts, “Kazakhstan is distracting the others for a few minutes, so you gotta get out of here and into the water.  _ Fast _ .”

Renmin nods— he climbs back to the car, starts the engine, reverses directions, and is now off to the bridge— rather, underneath it.

  
  


When Soviet’s men got out of Kazakhstan’s firm hold a few seconds later, they checked the bridge first; to their surprise, no sight of Renmin’s car on the establishment. If they’d looked under it, however, they would’ve seen his car-turned-boat pedalling across the water, being hidden by the bridge’s shadow.

His nephews look mystified, looking everywhere at their new surroundings, hearing the sloshing of water in their eardrums.

“Papa used to take us to swan rides everyday”, Liaoning recounts to Renmin, who was busily driving silently, so that no one would pay them any attention.

“It’s not as exciting as  _ this _ , though!”, Heilongjiang supplies, an excited smile on his face as Jilin nods in agreement.

“This is so cool!”, Jilin replies, eyes shining. “It’s like we’re in a fairy tale!”

Renmin smiles at the children’s statements— they remind him of himself, a long time ago.

(It saddens him a little- the fact that he had to grow up too fast, since the world is too cruel to let him remain as a child, forever and ever.)

Once they reach the shore — while also making sure Soviet’s men don’t spot them — they arrive in Gondwana, rather unscathed, much to their relief. The first thing Renmin does is park at a much closed-off area, so that even if his former allies — now enemies and assassins — won’t know where to find him, even if their trackers say otherwise.

_ It still doesn’t completely solve the tracker problem, however _ , Renmin thinks to himself, as he lets the children exercise their limbs before they try finding a place to hide.

He glares at the car— this used to be one of Soviet’s prized possessions — after him — and now it was technically his. His one golden eye glowers at the memory that he and his former beau shared.

He will have to destroy it, then— as it holds no more value rather than tainted memories.

He and his nephews do not need it— they only need each other.

Renmin digs through some of the trash people had left all alone (“Why is he rummaging through trash like a cat?”, Heilongjiang asks, and Jilin slaps his arm, saying it was quite rude to ask such a bold question out loud), looking for something that can help him destroy a piece of his and Soviet’s past. He finds it a few minutes later— a rusty shovel, looking out of place from the trashes of rotted food and soddy drinks.

“What are you gonna do with that,  _ shushu _ ?”, Liaoning Heilongjiang? Jilin? He really  _ needs _ to try to find differences to tell them apart — asks.

He shrugs at his nephew, “Whatever I do now… I hope you three will  _ never _ imitate what I’m about to do.”

All three blink— having no context of what their uncle is about to do, a school of fishes staring back at him with their naive and innocent eyes.

“Promise me you’ll never do what I’m about to do.”

The trio peek at each other, like they rely on their own choices to answer truthfully to Renmin’s promise (his insides twinge with longing— remembering when he and Minguo had exchanged glances as a conversation). “Okay”, they answer at once.

“Good— now close your eyes or look away, since I’m about to do an illegal act.”

“But if it’s illegal why are you doing it—”

“Because I have to”, Renmin interrupts, “now go play with each other, but  _ don’t _ wander too far.”

As he hears little feet scampering off — but he can hear their voices a few feet away — his resolve turns back to the car, raising the rusted shovel, hitting it with as much force as he can.

_ CLANG _ !

He imagines it was Soviet he was hitting— instead of the sound of metal screeching and vibrating through his ears as he hits the car, he can hear Soviet; begging for mercy, gasps of pain here-and-there, and the shovel actually hitting skin and breaking bones.

Just a week ago, he would’ve called this action a crime against humanity, would’ve defended Soviet to his bitter end— but now he wants  _ nothing _ to do with him, trying to discard all of his past with that sorry excuse of a man.

(Of course it hurts him; to never again kiss the person who you loved for years, to never feel his breath against his, his skin brushing with his own… but Soviet doesn’t deserve his love.)

(And Renmin doesn’t need his.)

After a few dozen hits on Soviet’s car, he feels satisfied— as he looks at it now, looking so mangy-looking and dented, its glass windows shattered, feeling a pang of pride. He lets a small smile escape him, as he drops the shovel and approaches his nephews, who were playing Tag on the sidewalk.

“So— who’s hungry?”, he asks in a triumphant tone, and all of a sudden he has three boys chirping and climbing him, wanting their meal to be the first choice to reach his ears. He lets out a chuckle, and with all his strength he scoops up the boys on his arms (they were concerningly light), as he eyes a crowded tea shop down the street. He gives them a smile. “Do any of you like bubble tea?”

Liaoning’s eyes light up, a smile covering his features. “Yes! Papa always gives us enough money to buy bubble tea!”

(He doesn’t miss the way his eyes glimpse of sadness as he talks about their now-dead father once again.)

Renmin cuckles a little, “Alright, let’s get you three — and me — the lunch we all deserved.”

The three of them giggle like the children they are, as he carries them throughout the journey, wanting nothing more but a nice meal to help calm his nerves (and to smoke too, but he didn’t have his cigarettes on him and he didn’t want to set a bad example on his nephews).

* * *

“America, why are you prioritising your  _ date _ with Nippon Koku over us?”, Canada’s voice slaps back— the only reaction he gets out of America is her cheeks reddening at the mention of her and Koku on a date.

“I am  _ not _ on a date with Koku!”, she hisses, trying to keep her voice low; she was in a public bathroom (she and Koku were once again waiting on their orders, and she uses this as a chance to contact her brother since he had been calling her multiple times). “I’m  _ trying _ to get evidence that Teikoku’s being a dirty creep!”

“Teikoku later, hate crime  _ now _ !”, Canada replies. “If you’re not here by at least twenty minutes I swear I’m going to—”

“Okay  _ fine _ !”, America shouts petulantly, hanging up as she puts her phone back in her pockets. Who cares what Canada thinks? He was the one who got her into this mess, and now he’ll be able to pay the price.

Plus, she doesn’t care about Koku Nippon— she doesn’t feel  _ anything _ for him.

(‘ _ Are you sure _ ?’, a voice in her mind asks— if you don’t care for him then why are you agreeing to go out in any and every establishment he chooses?

_ Because I’m his  _ bodyguard.)

With a huff, she opens the door and finds Koku thanking the waitress for delivering their food. He catches her eye and he gives her a warm smile— something inside her grows warmer, the sun on a peaceful and enticing spring day. Shaking her head to try get rid of the thought that he looks good today — why is she even thinking this — and smiles back at him (she doesn’t miss the way his cheeks redden like there’s no tomorrow).

“How was your talk with your brother?”, he asks, as he starts to take a bite of their lunch.

She blinks up at him, suddenly remembering that she had a talk with her brother. “Uh, he was being nosy.”

“If it comforts you, I have nosy brothers as well”, Koku says as his face morphs to one of satisfaction, as he starts eating his food faster— but still having the time to savour his meal, of course.

“I mean— they are  _ more than _ nosy.” She takes a small bite of her lunch, her taste buds tingling at the taste of the food. Her eyes shining as she feasts in her lunch, she continues talking, her mouth full. “They’re literally digging for information and won’t stop until they get it.”

He looks at her, his grey eyes wide in thinking, “America, don’t talk when your mouth’s full.”

She smiles at him, “Not my fault the food in front of us is delicious.”

He rolls his eyes, smiling fondly, “Doesn’t mean you can’t practise table manners.”

She sticks her tongue out at him (which was rather childish, but  _ who cares _ ?), “I practise table manners the same way you do.”

“I can see that— but stop talking when your mouth is full.”

“What, scared you’re gonna see something else?”

He opens his mouth, his face turning red, before closing it as he goes back to eating his food.

The only thing that masks their silence is the needless and endless chattering of other customers and the clinking of porcelain bowls on their tables. America, never one for bearing silence, starts up their conversation again—

“How’s your tutoring with Daehan Minguk for the past few days when I was taking a few days off?”, she asks, picking at the food on her plate.

He perks up, “Oh, we both are fine with each other— sorta.”

“‘Sorta?’”

“Well, we’re still awkward with each other, sometimes he’d give me a few dark glares and I try hard not to notice”, he shrugs, “he’s not really fond of me, but the feeling’s mutual.”

“Well, if you two hate each other, why don’t you reassign yourself to another kid?”

“I thought about it.”

She raises a brow, since he clearly doesn’t want to say anything else. “And?”

“And what? I thought about it and I’m still thinking about it.”

America blinks, “Oh.” Then goes back to eating her food, now once again lapsing into another awkward silence, the both of them quietly chewing their meal.

Now it was Koku’s turn to break the silence, “I want to ask you a question.”

“Hm?”

“If… you were ever able to go back in time, what era in time would you like to remain in?”

She shrugs, “The 20’s. I wanna be a flapper— also because I like the aesthetic the 20’s had. You?”

He beams at her, “I was thinking of living in the 20’s as well.”

She laughs — she didn’t know why she was laughing, and she didn’t care — and smiles back at him.

(She can feel her cheeks reddening—  _ why _ are her cheeks reddening?)

“Hey America.” She immediately freezes, as Koku looks up to find a boy with chestnut brown hair and glimmering green eyes, grin hostile to the both of them.

She forces a smile on her face. “Hey Canada— what are you doing here?”

His grin turns stony. “I can ask you the same question.”

Koku looks at brother and sister, both lost in their staring match, and he coughs to get their attention. He smiles up at Canada. “Hey. May we help you?”

Canada’s grin grows into a rather poisonous smile. “Oh, no need— my sister here was just being stubborn.”

She scowls at him. “I am  _ not _ .”

“She refuses to help me and her brothers”, he continues through gritted teeth, his smile becoming sweeter. “For  _ you _ .”

Koku looks at America, then to Canada, an awkward expression on his face. “Um… that’s flattering?”

She silently swears at him, too awkward to even handle a conversation right (she stuffs her face with more of the ramen to keep her from blushing). She stares back at Canada, “If I finish my lunch, I’ll follow you back. Just…  _ stop _ threatening the poor boy.”

Canada looks back at Koku, who gives him a small smile (judging from the way his legs are shaking he certainly is scared of her brother), and with a smile of farewell — though looking poisonous — he walks out of the restaurant, leaving the both of them alone.

The boy across from her lets out a sigh of relief. “You and your brother have a lot in common.”

“What? Making you feel uncomfortable?”

He laughs (which once again fills her heart with warmth— for some reason), “Well, that and because you two initially scared me.” His grey eyes shine with… something  _ definitely _ there. “Now I know you more.”

(You don’t know me.)

She can hardly keep herself from going red, and so she buries herself beneath her lunch, not feeling Koku’s eyes going away now.

* * *

Renmin lifts his head, not sure if his head is playing tricks with him or that the person on the counter was  _ him _ . He remembers going in this bubble tea shop with his nephews— smiling and laughing, all telling each other what they want and bickering on which flavour is the best.

(He smiles and laughs, ruffling his nephews’ hair, telling them that all flavours are the best, and they smile and coo.)

But when they get to the counter, Renmin freezes like he has been shot through the heart— because he sees the person he never thought to see again, wearing shades (for some reason), asking people — politely! — for his customer’s orders. With the way Renmin was dumbly standing, he was sure that he would’ve spotted them by now, but no; his  _ brother _ (he doesn’t deserve to be called that anymore) continues to cater to his customer’s needs.

His shock and speechlessness gives way to hurt and hatred, his damaged eye searing hot as he remembers the fingers on his face, digging into him as ‘punishment’ for being with Soviet— for betraying his blood.

(He may have cut ties with Soviet now, but that doesn’t mean he forgives Minguo.)

Composing himself — for the sake of letting customers pass and to look strong in front of his nephews — he makes his way to the — rather long — line. A few seconds into that line, with Renmin’s damaged eye searing even brighter as he glances at Minguo, the smell of bubble tea lingering in the air, he blocks out Liaoning’s whining (complaining he was hungry and that he doesn’t want to wait in lines), Jilin’s scolding (he’s trying to stop Liaoning from whining but it only makes him whine louder), and Heilongjiang  _ drooling _ over his suit.

He now thinks of what he was going to say, once he moves down the line— will he simply just say his and his nephews’ orders? Or will he calmly — while also trying not to spit on his face — tell Minguo that he’s found him?

As he turns to face his brother, he solemnly hopes that — by miracle — he would not recognise him (unlikely, as both of their faces are plastered on their heads forever). Minguo’s head, however, does not move, nor did the smile on his fade or falter.

Renmin frowns at him, tilting his head, quite confused at the fact that Minguo’s smile is still intact— was he…?

His eyes light up with understanding.

Minguo’s sunglasses.

The way he is perching on the counter, knuckles turning white.

_ He’s blind _ .

Renmin — somehow — feels satisfied with this revelation.

Minguo’s smile — still not wavering — greets him, then asks for his order; he orders four medium-sized cups for him and his nephews, and once Minguo gives him the receipt, he snatches it and throws his money at him.

(He had also disguised his voice— there can be no telling if Minguo still recognises it.)

As he and his nephews make their way to a nearby vacant table as they wait for their order, Jilin hounds on him with questions— yes, he was the Smart One.

“Why did you look like you were about to explode when you saw him?”, he asks, his voice sounding more like a gossipy interviewer rather than a child. “Did you know him? Do you hate him? Why do you hate him? Did he do something to⸺”

“Jilin, did your dad ever teach you not to hound your uncle for answers?”, he snaps impatiently, already regretting those words as it leaves his mouth, as his nephew sews his mouth shut, with his brothers mocking him of the way their uncle had just treated him. He sends an apologetic look to his direction— but he knows that the only way he could get Jilin’s forgiveness is to give him something unforgettable.

(He was always bad with children.)

When his nephews start playing with each other and do not pay any attention to Renmin, his eyes go back to Minguo— smiling brightly like he was still in a world where life exists to nurture and help him back to its feet, where life was still the mother they had until she had died. Well, that’s what happens to cowards who run away from everything they know to live a brand new life in a city, trying to gloss over the fact he was a hardened killer.

Renmin stares at Minguo, his eyes deepening like dark pools of gold— his dark brown hair reminds them too much of their mother.

(Minguo blames Renmin for her death.)

(He tries telling him that he did not murder their mother— but his brother was already tuning him out by now.)

* * *

“You’ve already made  _ half _ the nearby mobs in Pangea submit to you”, Austria says, his voice a hissed whisper, his dark green eyes trained on Weimar, who was busily attending to his butterflies. “Surely you would stop this by now——— "

“Österreich, I can handle this”, Weimar says, his eyes focused and fixated on the map; sooner or later he — and Teikoku — can finally rule the core of the entire city, the heart of it all. The first thing he’d do is take care of his rivals and America, once and for all.

(He never truly got over the humiliation the others sent his way after his father went bankrupt.)

“You can handle being a tyrannical dictator over your children, but can you handle  _ all _ mobs fighting you in every direction?”

His great-nephew looks up to stare at him, his green eyes that once shone with kindness and nervousness is now full of hatred and anger; needless to say, he was not the boy he had raised, just a hollow and less benevolent version of him now, a shadow taking control of his body, morphing it to its own.

(Österreich would never admit it to anyone but himself— this new version of Weimar scares him too much.)

“I spied on them with my  _ drones _ , remember?”, he smiles eerily, “a dear  _ friend _ of mine helped me make them possible.”

Österreich gulps, as he feels the weight of his stare, making him grip harder at his shirt, his white hair conquering more and more of the remnants of his gold hair. In an instant, someone knocks on the door, as if it was a cue— a cue that whoever is behind that door right there is the maker of those loathsome, spying butterflies.

“Come in, madame”, Weimar’s face turns to an ear-splitting grin, and Österreich‘s heartbeat grows louder, thinking it was Teikoku…

When the intruder opens the door however, it was the person he least expected— his insides churn, his blood grows cold, his heartbeat thunders.

Weimar’s face grows wider, showing no hindrance for the newcomer, who grins at them like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. “France, I’m glad you joined us today.”


	14. Light 'Em Up (I'm On Fire)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! Shanghai and Imsi's segment here deals with dubious consent and mentions of rape. if you are uncomfortable with this topic, please skip away from that immediately.
> 
> Name Guide:  
> Koku Nippon- Japan  
> Teikoku Nippon- Japan Empire  
> Daehan Imsi- KPG  
> Daehan Jeguk- Korean Empire  
> Daehan Minguk- South Korea

The white flash of the cameras blind her a little — only a little — as she and her fellow colleagues investigate the most recent kidnapping.

(To call it most recent would be a lie; it had been happening for a few weeks now, but since she started to prioritise the problem with Teikoku more,  _ this _ problem was shunted aside for the time-being.)

Vietnam hands her a cup of warm coffee and, thanking her, she makes her way towards a grief-stricken Spain— they know each other from the very beginning, but they struggle to make their lines parallel to one another, especially since the latter had treated her so snidely during her relationship with Mexico (short-lived, however, but had a few children). The woman had strawberry blonde hair wrapped around a staid bun, tears soaking her nightdress as Mexico rubs circles behind her back.

America takes a sip of her coffee — not too hot nor cold — savouring its bitter taste, as it was her life right now, stuck in the first circle of hell spiralling downwards. She clears her throat to make her presence known, to remind the mother-and-son duo she exists in the same space as hers. Spain looks up from her grief, but that does not stop her from crying even more.

“Tell me what happened”, she demands nonchalantly, as Canada from behind her holds out a notepad and begins writing— she was not apathetic, rather that she is also rather stricken with the news of another child of a probable mob boss going missing.

Spain wipes away the tears gathering over her eyes, opening her mouth and letting out a voice full of grief, “We were ambushed by masked men during our car trip down the bridge joining Pangea and Gondwana together — Mexico and your children had been travelling in another car, so your children are safe — but they took Puerto Rico… Cuba will die when he learns of this.”

(She remembers Cuba— part of Spain’s mob, the one who sells ice down the streets; they had tried catching him, but he was as slippery as the ice he sells.)

Mexico’s mother starts crying again, even when America wanted to retort that she was surprised she remembered Puerto Rico’s name just from how many children she had (although that would get her another death glare from the woman), so she just nods to Canada, who in turn goes back to investigating the car that was almost sliding down the bridge (‘No one fell into the river, of course’, says Spain).

She takes a deep breath as she surveys the scenery around her, the scent of her coffee fogging the dozens of her colleagues making sure the evidence and witnesses are to be trusted— she longs for a bath, but here she is, in another of these ‘missing kids’ mysteries. The sun shines brightly above them — too bright, to the point she has to squint her eyes — its reflection shining down on the waters below.

Taking a step to see the crystal clear river beneath them, she wonders how deep the whole thing is; perhaps just above-her-ankles deep, or will the currents and other murky monsters below the rivers drag her to the bottom, depriving her of her needed air as she tries swimming back up, to no avail? She shrugs, like she’s answered her own question and curiosity— she didn’t, but there won’t be any use to that now.

“America— I found something”, Australia calls for her, and immediately is on his side— he and New Zealand were busily examining a few shattered glass shards that had been smashed during the assault. They shine like diamonds in the sky, letting their crystal shards be at one with the sun’s light. It makes her squint her eyes, too much light hurting her vision.

“What do you want me to look at?” she asks— her younger brother had always been one to cause drama and cliffhangers, but she’s impatient. With a sigh, he picks up a shard of glass; only it wasn’t a shard, she realises.

It was a slip of paper, stuck underneath the rubble— though she could say that that was useless for their hunt against the vandal… then she saw it was a message;  _ for her _ .

New Zealand yanks the slip of paper away, his eyes unwavering as he starts reading. "Ottawa Palace.” He frowns, and so do the others— that was  _ Canada’s _ home (unfortunately, not a palace).

“Maybe it was just from one of Spain’s posters and flyers”, America says, shrugging, as Canada makes their way towards them. She takes the slip of paper from her brother’s hands — earning a huff — and squints; the handwriting was neat and curved, just like her brother’s...

“Hey Canada, d’you know why this was here?” she gives him the slip of paper, and he skims it, eyebrows furrowing— then he crumples it and throws it into the water, earning a few complaints and ‘Hey!’s from his siblings. America stares at the spot where he had dropped it, mouth agape, then back to him. “The hell was that for?”

“Oh I don’t know, the fact that I  _ dropped _ something from my pockets and this in turn spiralled a chain of events”, he replies, shrugging— but there was something clearly off with his voice; like a certain sharp edge that can cut her own skin and let blood drip into the water. She and her brothers stand and watch as he walks off, looking as though he had made a big mistake in his life.

(What was his mistake?)

Australia was the first to recover — as always — letting out a small sigh, imitating Canada’s rather deep and soft one, making America snort. “Well, that was a first. Never seen Canada get angry at us for extracting evidence.”

“Maybe he’s having an off day”, Kiwi suggests, as he watches his older brother talk to Philip furiously — with a tinge of wariness in his face — as Mexico and Spain approach their brother, their voices now overlapping. “ _ Definitely _ having an off day.”

“Yeah, he gets moody when things don’t go his way”, she says, smiling, “if I ever become a nun I’ll give Canada my place as chief of police.”

“He’s been vying for that position since you got it”, Kiwi agrees, nodding, “it would be appropriate for him to get such an honour and privilege— especially when it comes to his sister.”

Australia looks at America, wounded. “But… I wanna be chief of police too.”

“Kill me, then.”

“No way!”

"Then you won't be chief of police."

"I'm not gonna murder you! I'll just be thrown into prison!"

Kiwi lets out a laugh. “You? Chief of police? You gotta be kidding.”

He glares at his younger brother. “I will be a  _ much better _ chief of police than America and Canada combined, just you wait.”

“What are you gonna do— set all the criminals free just so you can have a dance off with them?”

“Am not!” He screams petulantly, and America lets out a rather loud laugh, watching Kiwi and Aussie having one of their daily arguments. It was rather pleasing as her siblings casually do their banter in front of a crime scene— it was forever their habit of making sure the other doesn’t get the higher ground; one infamous time Australia and Kiwi’s argument (about peanut butter) escalated to a few hours, to the point America had to break them apart.

“Alright, I think we all know who I’m going to call my chief of police”, America interrupts, and Australia gives her a pointed look— she looks at him with a smirk. “It’s still Canada, Aussie.”

“I will be the very best chief of police ever, Meri, if you just give me a chance!”, he whines— too much of a child rather than the professional adult he’s supposed to be (she wonders if Villers usually confuses him with the kids at the kindergarten she works at). His dark blue eyes twinkle with excitement, his smile as dazzling as she can remember (the only thing that was tolerable of Aussie was his smile); then it turns to a frown, symbolising that something has dawned over him.

Kiwi is the first to acknowledge it ( _ damn _ his perceptiveness). “What’s wrong, Australia?”

He snaps out of it— but the thing about their brother is that his mouth won’t be kept shut, even when he fakes being happy.

(One time Australia had almost let it slip to Villers about his proposal to her— luckily New Zealand was there and diverted the couple’s attention to a nearby waterfall.)

“Come on, we know something is bothering you if you look like that”, America urges him — half-hearted — as she takes another sip of her coffee, soon to become cold on her touch. “Let’s hear what is bothering our good little brother now.”

Australia’s shoulders sag — not a good sign — his eyes drooping like a puppy when they were not given enough food. “Well, the fact that Villers has been… acting  _ strange _ lately.”

America raises a brow— she remembers her conversation with Villers, who was despondent at the fact she cannot produce a child like dried up fruit. She had cheered her up —  _ tried to _ cheer the young woman up — and now she has to do the same to her brother. “How strange, exactly?”

“Well… the fact that she looks like she’s about to cry every time I ask her how many kids she wants; or whenever I bring up the crib I was hoping to buy for our newborn; or maybe——”

America tunes him out (she sometimes does that whenever he gets too irritating in her ears), her mind working wonders through thoughts scattered throughout her brain like stars, as her own subconscious picks on them delicately, trying not to taint the memories she had fun — and sadness — then turns to her brother, who was still rambling about Villers’ rather peculiar personality.

“Maybe you can try  _ not _ to bring up the topic of a baby in your home?”, she suggests in a maternal tone.

Australia closes his mouth, then blinks up at America. “But… Villers has always wanted a baby!”

“I know”, she states, rolling her eyes, trying not to slip her friend’s secret out, “but still— if it makes her uncomfortable, then don’t talk about it. You get me?”

Australia looks at New Zealand, unsure at why his sister suddenly has gotten rather defensive of this topic. His younger brother stares right at him, unsure coldness in his eyes, and he makes a tiny nod. “Alright… even though I don’t get why you’re cold at me.”

“Sorry.” From the corner of her eye, she spots Mexico making his way towards her, face grim. “Also, gotta converse with Mex, I’ll see you.” She turns to him, “Any problems?”

Mexico shrugs, “None that are as heavy as Puerto Rico missing— I wanna ask if you want the kids all weekend?”

Her face — evidently — lights up, “Hell yeah I do! So, where are they?”

He yawns, side-eyeing Canada with a look of suspicion. “At my house. They’re really scared after the attack and immediately want their warrior mom to go get them or something.”

She looks at him. “Is it personal? That they prefer me over you, I mean.”

He glares at America, his face morphing to a scowl. “Sometimes— but this time not now, as me and my mom just put their lives in danger.” He sneaks back a look at Canada and Spain, conversing as Philip and Vietnam examine the crime scene. He looks back at her with an unreadable expression, “Anyway, do you want to see your kids again or no?”

She smiles, “I miss them.”

Mexico gives her a small smile as he makes his way towards the car. “I know.” Before he can start the engine, however, Canada runs up to them, face pale.

“What’s wrong?”, she asks, “another scary message from ‘The Great White North’?”

“Horrible name”, Mexico mutters from behind her.

“Yeah”, her brother replies, beads of sweat dripping from his face. He grabs his sister’s wrist and — without waiting to see if her legs are following — drags her towards the car where Puerto Rico was kidnapped. She hadn’t really surveyed the scene carefully before (she’d let Vietnam and Philip handle it), but now her eyes bulge with horror and shock, fear taking the place of her (over)confidence earlier.

Written in grisly crimson red, the message reads—

“ _ His skeletons will lie in the Montreal Palace forever _ .”

She rereads the same message over and over again; hoping that once she started reading and reading, it would magically change to whatever she pleases— of course, the message hasn’t changed, still written by that ghostly handwriting of their kidnapper.

America looks at her brother, who was looking grim. “Where the hell is this Montreal Palace?”, she asks. Before Canada can answer, a short call interrupts him.

"Wait one moment", he tells his sister, as she hears an ounce of the one-sided conversation. "Hello...? Yeah? Oh. Oh. Sure. I'll be right there." He looks back at her- she looks rather curious, to say the least.

"Who was that?" she asks.

"Someone thinks they found Puerto Rico."

"It could be a trap."

“Yeah--- so you go to Montreal Palace and I go to whatever this location is”, Canada interjects, crossing his arms, “let's see who's _really_ got Puerto Rico."

America glances back at Mexico, waiting for her to come with him to fetch their children; she shakes her head at him— her job has to come first. She turns back to his brother, “All right.”

Mexico glances at his mother, and - voice low - he says, "Didn't you think the attacker has too green eyes?"

* * *

Koku was writing again— he usually does this everyday, whenever his brother wasn’t bothering him or whenever he was out tutoring a few hundred children in need of his knowledge transferring from their brains. God, he missed writing; the way the pen follows his hands in every stroke of words… the way the smooth texture of the sheet of paper he was using now crinkles underneath his palm… the way his mind runs wild with imagination, putting it on paper.

(Although without his eye-glasses, this was a problem— he can see watercolours and palettes move, but never truly his own fingers.)

(Of course, his wrists and fingers would reprimand him for using them too much, to the point he would collapse underneath his own weight, and with the weight on his shoulders he collapses in his bed, trying to sleep soundly.)

He misses America now, especially when she and her brother had left him alone in the ramen restaurant yesterday, due to something urgent happening— he let them go, since he doesn’t have a say in the family drama that is going on in their lives. Instead, whistling to himself as he asks the waitress for the leftovers to be transformed to takeout — for Palau, Hokkaido and Okinawa — he whistles and walks with other people, basking in the obscurity of his life.

(Was he obscure enough, though? To the crowds gazing upon him like he was some sort of lost angel, he was; but to others, he was nothing more but an insignificant life form, doomed to breathe the poisonous air of the entire world.)

When he had come home, Teikoku — even though he doesn’t want to see him today — welcomes him back, asks where America had gone — he politely answers — and he tells his older brother to give the leftovers to his children, as he whistles into his room, cosying himself into his study desk, picks up a pen— then starts writing.

Honestly, he has no idea how to start with everything— if he lets himself become accustomed to sudden changes, if he has any idea how to properly conjure up a death without making it look so dramatic but at the same time boring; it was frustrating. He lets himself be entangled in whatever had happened in that restaurant a few weeks ago, then the entrance of America in his life (a welcome one, in fact), then to those dozens of assassination attempts he tries to ignore, then… well, perhaps everything in his life is one big heap of a novel— except he wasn’t fiction.

(Is he?)

To be fiction is not to be real, trying to be a real person living in such an unrealistic or realistic place to the point it wasn’t funny anymore, and everything and everyone living in the same plane as he is share his specimen— the fact he was unreal, the fact that even if he can feel his skin enveloping flesh… it won’t be real to others, then.

(Maybe everything is real but at the same time mind-numbingly not real.)

He has no idea why he was thinking of such things— perhaps to quell his curiosity within him even further? To further prolong it until he finally reaches his answer? Or will he and others who had thought the same thing about the universe succumb to their cursed mortality and die, not knowing the far dangers of the world and the in-between.

“Koku?”, he curses silently; it was Teikoku outside the door, Teikoku who wants to have a conversation with him now.

(He had avoided him after what he had done to his glasses; and also the fact that he is too scared of him— they all are.)

“The door’s open”, he replies as Teikoku saunters into his room like he owns it— giving him a small and kind smile. It wasn’t kind— it didn't reach his crimson red eyes, swirling with ambition and blood-lust he had always craved since the beginning of his life. He returns the sentiment; smiling at his brother with warmth— even if there was no warmth to share.

“I feel so…  _ terrible _ after destroying your glasses- I mean, how can you see now, without those?”, he feigns distress and pity towards Koku, who has a hard time differentiating him from the objects around his bedroom. He fishes out of his pocket, dark curls covering his eyes for a moment, “So I decided to get you these.” He hands out a dark grey case fit for a pair of glasses towards Koku; he handles them like a fragile object, an infant in his eyes, his grey eyes lighting up with delight, no longer upset with his brother.

(Maybe he isn’t so bad after all—  _ no _ ,  _ he always was evil _ .)

He opens the case, and fishes out his new pair of glasses, putting them on his face— he proceeds to look at the mirror next to his bed (which he  _ rarely _ uses), checking to see if his appearance appeals with his new pair— it does. With a beaming smile on his face, he says to Teikoku, “ _ Arigato _ , Teikoku- _ sama _ .”

(No matter how many times he has said that to his brother, there was a slight aftertaste in his mouth; like he had just eaten something rotten.)

Teikoku smiles — or more like a grin — as he closes the door conjoining Koku’s realm to the world where the predator who murdered his mother and imprisoned him in the depths of darkness, waiting silently as the door to his prison opens.

Once his wrists and fingers crack and start to deteriorate his own motives for writing (like a timer, he thinks), he stands up, swelling and throbbing hands on his pockets, as he goes for a walk around the Nippon household— it always helps him keep his mind off things and let his hands heal before he unleashes another assault on them once again.

Usually, his wrists swelling or cracking joints don’t really hinder him— rather he had just let it happen, as he continued on writing like he was running out of time (and it did). But a few more weeks then days had passed, and sometimes it’s become unbearable for him to even hold something; like his hands were giving in, too much chores to even do the same thing he had done — ever since he was set free — over-and-over again; like his own system was trying to break the cycle he had grown accustomed to.

He doesn’t search for help with his hands— he’s fine, everything’s fine, this whole wrist-and-finger joint problem will naturally go away on its own.

He did try to stop writing — dozens of times, to be exact — but one look at the discarded pen, paper, and laptop on his desk will set him off a writing spree and damage his injury even further. It was an impulsive act of his, driven by the intrigue and dreams he had created for himself as a writer.

(It’s unhealthy, he knows that.)

So, he walks— he loves walking as he does writing, even when the entire world looks so plain and boring to his eyes; he can never truly stop moving, even if it was in the depths of his imagination. Even if he had passed the kitchen too many times — to get snacks — or the gardens — to admire the greenery and the flowers blooming — and even the roads full of throngs of people and noisy cars merging into traffic… walking was beautiful.

And to stop walking or writing will be a bullet to the head.

“Hey”, he pokes his head at the kitchen, making a few of the cooks jump, before relaxing a little.

“Yes, Koku-sama?”, one of them asks— the head chef.

“Do you have some noodles?”

“P-pardon?”

“Like… are you cooking noodles? If you are, can i have some?”

The head chef looks around at her staff, before bowing at him, “O-of course, Koku-sama. No need to ask us for permission.”

“I have to— also, was I intruding on anything?”

The head chef quickly shakes her head, the embodiment of anxiety. “No, I believe we had just finished our conversation before you came in.”

He tilts his head, “Ah, alright. Still, apologies for interrupting something.” The head chef gave — shoved — him the bowl of noodles he had wanted, and with a naive and innocent wave, he was out of their sight, heading to the gardens.

(He still has enough strength to carry hot bowls.)

The gardens will always be his favourite spot in the gardens — although this place would be better with  _ America _ — with those lush scenarios like a watercolour painting coming to life, to the blooming flowers always filled with butterflies trying to feed themselves before they can live their full lives, to the soft grass underneath his feet that he would always roll around.

(Who knew that a prison could be  _ this _ beautiful?)

With a smile, Koku throws himself on a bench as he starts devouring his after-lunch snack (call it a celebratory snack after putting up with his wrists for a few hours before collapsing)— slurping and loving the noodles as steam pours out of the bowl like rain clouds over the sun.

* * *

Mongolia — anxiously — stares at his reflection on the mirror, rapidly fixing his hair (that he usually has no care if it was messy or not), which falls down at his shoulders no matter how many times he tries slicking it back.

(Kazakhstan offers to cut it, but he threatens him— he loves his hair just as much as he loves Minguk.)

Meanwhile, his cousin was fussing with his suit that they borrowed — stole — from Soviet, and he accidentally pricks one of the hair pins deep down Mongolia’s flesh. He jumps at the short-lived pain, then glares at his older cousin, who was looking sheepish.

“Asshole”, he declares, not keeping his eyes off the mirror.

“I’m sorry, if that’s what you want to hear”, he says, still busily trying not to get Soviet’s suit to drape across Mongolia’s body like an ancient robe.

Once he fixes his hair, a satisfactory smile on his face, his hair immediately deflates, replacing his smile with a scowl. “Goddamn it.”

Kazakhstan looks up and gives him an ‘I-told-you-so’ look. “I tried getting you to fix your hair but you never listen— and look at it now.”

“Fuck you, you never gave me a lecture about my  _ hair _ .”

“I  _ did _ talk to you about your hair, but you were busy looking at boys the same way you look at your gun.”

Mongolia sputters at the call-out as he busily rearranges his hair, “Am I  _ that _ obvious?”

“You were.” He shakes his head fondly as he buttons up his collar and places a few more pins on the right places, stepping back to admire his work like a proud father looking at his son about to go to prom.

(He has absolutely  _ no _ idea what happens at prom but he chooses not to talk about it— it was something about dancing, right?)

Mongolia, however, was not satisfied with how his hair looks more like a spider web entangled with a dozen insects for a spider’s buffet, swearing in Russian then in his own language as he tries fixing his own mane.

Kazakhstan sighs, “I don’t think Minguk would mind if you end up looking like that.”

He glares at him like he was his own personal target. “From the past few days I’ve known of Minguk, he’ll ridicule the way I look.” A sudden realisation dawns on him. He claws at his hair, now clearly — and obviously — anxious. “ _ Öö burkhan mini _ , what if he actually doesn’t like me? What if he’s just playing me for fools ——”

“Snap out of those thoughts,  _ kök _ . If he doesn’t actually like you, he’d have cancelled your date by now.”

“But what if he stands me up? What if I don’t live up to  _ his _ expectations? What if I make a fool out of myself, Kaz?” Daggers pierce his heart as he clutches at it— his mind was erupting in a dozen scenarios of what could go wrong in his mind, to how Minguk’s face would morph to one of disappointment and anger and to the words he might say in front of him. “He doesn’t know that I have no idea how to read! And he likes studying!”

“Calm down, I’ll try not to make Minguk aware of your illiteracy. Just don’t do anything stupid at the date.” He rubs his cousin’s back, trying to soothe him— which was working a little, as his breathing returns to normal and his anxiety level calms down. The daggers piercing his heart stop in midair before returning to the critical parts of his mind, where they will hide until the time is ready for another attack.

Mongolia heaves a sigh, wiping the tears gathering in his eyes (he only had realised those feelings exist in him once again)— pursing his lips to a thin line. “I’m sorry, this is my first time and I don’t want to——”

“I know you don’t”, Kazakhstan replies soothingly; he was always the more caring of Soviet’s mob members, “but I’m sure Minguk will like you even more after your date with him.”

“What if——”

“Mon, save the negative thoughts after the date; we’ll see how this goes.”

He stops speaking, bottling up all his negative thoughts— he inhales, then exhales, trying to relax his shaking body and nerves for the date he had just brought himself upon. He gives Kazakhstan a — shaky — smile, as he opens the doorknob, the both of them ready to face his date with one Daehan Minguk.

* * *

Half an hour after Minguk left for his date, Imsi was alone in the house— well, not really alone, as Shanghai was also there. But instead of exchanging their respective greetings and then having tea, then talking to each other in a meaningful conversation that makes Imsi’s heart turn and stop all at once, staring and listening at the rambling Shanghai, who forgets to take deep breaths every second.

(He admires her intellect and wit and charm, and he is so pleased with the fact that she seems to be returning to her old self again, after all that Teikoku has done to her.)

But right now, he was avoiding her.

Why? He doesn’t know either.

He’s a horrible liar— Jeguk, Nabi, Father, and Minguk can account to that. For some reason, his mouth is more natural to speaking the truths rather than lies to save himself and his skin from the wraiths of those whom he had unintentionally hurt; but every time he tries to lie, he feels an ounce of guilt and tells them the complete truth.

(His father commends him for his honesty, saying that it is something Jeguk could never have.)

Shanghai is a rather smart woman — perhaps even smarter than he is — so whenever he excuses himself from her presence with a lie on her lips, she looks confused for a moment, and then becomes hurt that he had ever used her feelings against her. There was a sense of guilt in him as he leaves her alone to read, and sometimes loneliness joins in the weight of guilt— it disrupts his work loads of times, but he can’t bring himself to confront Shanghai about his feelings for her.

Not yet, when his feelings were just as puzzling as his sexuality.

Not now, when he thinks his brain has confused her for a lover.

(She’s a  _ friend, _ he berates his mind— stop confusing her for something as confusing as love.)

What even is love anyway? There were too many types of love, too many that he had tried counting on his fingers as he and his brother wasted away, to the point where he had forgotten the feeling of his brother’s presence at the same plane as him, now a ghost in his pulsing veins. He misses him— he wants him back in the living world, but that was impossible.

Imsi glimpses at the small vintage photo on his bedside table; him and Jeguk, their arms around each other, showing off what their achievement was in the photo; Imsi winning the quiz bee and Jeguk bringing home the trophy for baseball.

(He remembered the game— the vivid image of Jeguk winning for his teammates, and a player from their rival team glaring daggers at them as they celebrate;  _ Teikoku _ .)

He stares at it sadly— remembering the joy and mirth written across both of their faces in this photo, faces straining to smile at the camera; they were so prideful, so  _ happy _ that it makes him want to weep and wish to bring him back to life.

(He believes his dreams are true, sometimes.)

There was a knock on the door that interrupted his guilt and sadness crashing down on him. 

“Come in”, he quietly states, and trying not to look strained, Shanghai enters his bedroom, looking the least bit worried for him. He clears his throat, not wanting there to be a silence between them, “Shanghai, what’s wrong?”

She fidgets in her place, looking around nervously, the way she did when he had once met her. “Look, you could’ve told me you don’t want me to stay anymore.”

He falters; his heart starts beating in rapid paces, his chest contracting as lungs breathe out air— oh god, did he just make her think he doesn’t want her around anymore? Then he sees the tears brimming in her eyes— she didn’t want to go away either. He immediately stands, making Shanghai jump.

“Oh god Shanghai- I didn’t- no please- don’t go just yet”, he sputters through several statements, trying to formulate an apology that’s been brewing ever since he started ignoring her. “I don’t want you to go.”

Shanghai looks at him, a mix of sadness and anger in her eyes. “You’ve been  _ avoiding _ me for the past few days. I can tell somebody doesn’t want me anymore. It’s okay; I’ve already extended my stay here.”

He shakes his head, feeling his heart ache as his brain tells him to  _ look at what he had done _ . “No- I just- please let me explain—”

She shakes her head, a tear landing on her feet, “Please Imsi, you could’ve just told me I was a good-for-nothing whore and left me in the streets.”

His eyes widen with horror. “Why- Shanghai no- I’m just trying to- I…”

His friend glares at him, something now hidden in her eyes. “I’m so tired of this, Imsi. I haven’t even told you how I feel about you.”

Before he can open his mouth to ask what she means, she kisses him— a million butterflies that had been living in the deepest recesses of his stomach are now let out, as she kisses him passionately; she smelled like strawberries hugging the cool air, her lips soft against his.

He kisses back, awkwardly trying to kiss with the same magnitude— but he now feels uncomfortable as her body pressed up at him, her hands roaming his body far too low, desperately searching and trying to elongate the kiss; when her tongue tries entering his mouth, he pushes her to the bed, eliciting a strangled gasp from her. Imsi looks at her, her eyes full of hurt; he realises what the push meant.

“You…  _ don’t _ like me?” she asks in a soft voice, before regaining composure, hardening. “Of course you don’t! I’m just a whore——”

Imsi tries to cut in, “No- Shanghai that’s not- Shanghai——"

“I thought men loved this! Loved the feeling of me beneath them and me kissing them and me being entered by them—”

His voices becomes desperate to be heard now, “Shanghai- please- please let me explain——”

“I even got myself to try loving what they do to me, loving the way they’d put it in me like I was some kind of goddamn sex toy! But maybe I am, but that doesn’t—”

“Please, Shanghai, just listen—” (He felt like crying now.)

“Does this mean you don’t want me? You don’t want what I have to offer?” Her solid facade breaks, as she starts sobbing, her body shaking.

“No- it’s not that- please listen to me-”, he makes his way to sit on his bed, but far enough from Shanghai to keep her comfortable, as she breaks down. “I like you too.”

She looks back up to stare at him, eyes watering, “No you don’t.” She sobs louder, harder this time.

“Yes I do— I’m just- I don’t know- I really- Um…” He tries to think of the first topic that should be brought up (curse his social awkwardness), before turning back to his sobbing friend. “I’m asexual.” He blurts out; but that was enough for Shanghai’s cries to soften, as she looks at him again, trying to wipe the tears around her eyes.

“What?”

“I’m asexual”, he repeats, clearer this time— he doesn’t normally reveal this to people, as he thinks it’s an embarrassing secret of his, but Shanghai needs to know. “I don’t like… um…  _ you know _ .”

Her eyes blink in realisation. “Oh.” Then she turns apologetic, “O-oh no, I’m so sorry I didn’t——”

“It’s okay”, he says, inching closer to her discreetly, “would you mind if I- um- well, if you would-” She answers by putting her head on his shoulder. “Yeah, that.”

They spend an eternity covered in silence— Shanghai’s breaths start to go back to its normal pace, her shaking halting, the tears that remain pounding down her cheeks being softly wiped away by Imsi. He runs his hands through his hair, as he feels her relax.

“I’m sorry I avoided you the past few days— and I know there’s  _ no _ way to reason with that”, he speaks up, before continuing, “I’d been struggling with my sexuality for years- my brother tried helping me with it, and even I thought I was just being a prude because I spent too much time with books rather than socialising. I thought sex was…  _ messy _ then apalling, then repulsive. I  _ tried _ trying to like the same things my brother’s friends liked, but in the end…  _ nothing _ . I guess I really was an abnormal child.”

She stares at him, “You’re not abnormal… just  _ different _ .”

“I hate that word.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. I guess I didn’t think about liking someone without… erm… having the you-know-what with them. My brain decided it thinks it likes you and… I panicked because you’re my best friend- my first friend I made all by myself.”

She smiles at him, and it electrifies him. “It’s okay— I panicked too when I started liking you… I just don’t want to be taken advantage of again.”

He kisses her forehead with meaning, “I know, and I’m sorry.”

They once again sit through another comfortable silence, basking in the warmth of the other— Shanghai can feel Imsi’s chest rising and falling, Imsi can feel the soft tendrils of hair on his fingers; they love the serenity of being with one another, two halves of a whole. She parts her lips to sigh, nuzzling closer to Imsi’s chest. Then she breaks one eye open, and he feels as if she was about to say something that would intrigue him further.

“Wanna know how I got there? How I got to Teikoku’s hands, I mean.”

He wants to— but he also does not want to hear the rather fucked up story of why she was in pain; but she’s offering it up to him, which must mean she is comfortable enough to tell him.

“Um- well- I’m not- it’s—” he is cut off of his sputtering by a soft kiss on his cheek, and he immediately turns red.

“It’s okay— I trust you, the same way as you trust me.” She holds his hand and squeezes it, sighing sadly. “Ready?”

“I’ll be ready if you are.”   
  


After she tells him her story, Imsi was frozen in place, cradling Shanghai, who was now breaking down once again as she recalls all of her past memories that had aided her in making this story come true before his eyes. He carefully rubs circles across her back, trying to comfort her but also not making her uncomfortable with his touch. There are several feelings swirling in his mind, but by the end of his story, it goes like this—

Imsi feels sorry — and amazed, mostly that — at Shanghai; she doesn’t deserve it,

He wants to beat Minguo up for leaving his wife like that,

He wants to murder Teikoku for the shit he’s done to her and the other women,

But most of all,

He sees Shanghai in a newer light— well, not technically new; he had seen Shanghai in the same light ever since the night they first met, but whenever he interacts with her it shines brighter, expanding towards the darkness like a holy light lingering down her body.

She looks up at him with her tear-stained face, “I’m sorry, I must’ve soaked your jacket, I’m sorry—”

“No”, he replies in a rather high-pitched tone (which always happens because, like he keeps mentioning, he’s socially awkward), before clearing his throat, feeling embarrassment eat him up. “I meant to say, I don’t really mind. As long as you’re here.”

The red in her cheeks rises, as she searches for warmth deep into his suit jacket.

(He’s oblivious to the way she whiffs up his perfume’s scent.)

She looks up at him, showing dark brown eyes, “Are you… comfortable with this?” She gestures to her arms in a small — but warm — embrace.

“Yes, just don’t go a little too low, I’m really uncomfortable with anyone touching that area.”

“...Alright. What about kissing you? You seemed to like it until I… um.”

He considers this for a moment; his feelings towards the first half of the kiss was neutral, at best — not very invested in lips touching his — but he felt the twinge of  _ liking _ it. Instead of saying ‘It’s okay’, or ‘Just don’t enter your tongue please’, he says, “You were my first kiss.”

(He immediately swears at himself in Korean for such a stupid — and perhaps obvious — statement.)

Her eyes widen in entertainment, “Ah. but you haven’t answered my question.”

“I… don’t know— I liked it, I know I do but… in my opinion, it wasn’t as impactful as kisses on the cheeks and forehead- what I’m trying to say is that I like the kiss on the lips, but I also think sharing saliva is rather disgusting and people might have germs and I think cheek kisses and forehead kisses are more… affectionate than pants-on kissing——”

Shanghai’s giggle cuts him from his rambling; it was like an angel coming down to grant him a wish he had always wanted to have when he was a child. “So… I can kiss you — in the lips —, but only with your consent, is that what you’re trying to say?”

He looks at her a little, before nodding. “Um. Yes, that’s what I was thinking about too.”

(‘Way to go, Daehan Imsi, rambling about your feelings about lip-kissing.’)

“Are you uncomfortable with some things too?”, he asks her in a concerned voice, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She smiles sadly, “I know you don’t.”

“I remember that you didn’t like to be touched the first few days here”, he states— he had avoided touching her, even brushing their fingers together would cause her to have a panic attack or have trouble breathing. “Well, you now look like you feel comfortable with hugs, and um, the occasional hand-holding, but what about what you don’t like?”

She gives him a small look of fear, before holding it down, “Please don’t hold me by the throat… or something like that. And don’t touch me…  _ there _ — but I know you won’t — and please don’t pull my hair suddenly or hardly, don’t p-push me down…” Her sentence becomes incoherent rambling as she is now once again reminded of the disgrace and horrifying truth that she had to put through in that cursed and hellish brothel.

He slowly pushes her up (which also gives her free access to his cologne), trying to calm her down. “It’s okay- I’ll try not hurting you. If I do hurt you, feel free to kill me.”

“I tried killing one of my clients, once.”

He blinks a little, trying to imagine a grief-stricken Shanghai above her client, trying to murder him with her own fingers— he can definitely see that happening. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

* * *

America regretted agreeing to Canada’s decision; she didn’t want to go to an abandoned work site— she wasn’t all by herself though, as construction workers were milling about, lost in their own work (or to her, she supposes). While the men were busy with building the entire museum, she was busy trying to look for a kidnapped child inside every single one of the rather blank and unfinished compartments and hallways.

(Some workers had asked if she wished for company inside the construction site; she — rudely — declines their offers, not wanting one of them to lead the way or to stare at her hungrily like a hyena.)

“Maybe Canada found Puerto Rico in that other place”, she mutters to herself as she finds nothing but blank and dim hallways, making her skin colder and her heart beat in fear. With a shaking hand, she takes out her phone from her pockets and dials Canada.

He picks up in the fourth ring— which was peculiarly late for him, as he usually answers in the second ring, but he must’ve been busy; and he was— she hears gunshots and voices overlapping in the other line.

“C-Canada?”, she stutters a little, the entire place growing colder by the minute, “what’s happening there?”

“Crossfire!”, he replies, panicked, as she hears another gunshot — louder this time — sound after hearing his voice. “Third Reich and Poland are at it again— but good news, I found Puerto Rico, safe and sound! There’d been some traps laid out by the Great White North — Mexico was right, that’s a horrible name — but I had found a way to get past them.”

“I don’t hear Puerto Rico’s voice——”

“That’s because he’s in my car, America. I came back here to stop this gang war.”

“Do you need help? I can——”

“No, I’m perfectly fine! Stay where you are, just wait for me!”

“A-alright. Just be careful!”

“I will-” The line cuts off there, and she slumps on the walls, feeling like her entire body was slowly being poisoned by her own surroundings, the cold freezing now— what the hell were the construction workers doing while building this damn thing? She’s  _ suffocating _ in here!

She has to find the exit now— her entire life depends on it.

She shuffles to where she had first come from; to the left— or was it to the right? Her entire head was spinning like she was in some sort of merry-go-round, her entire body feeling light and her mind blank with ideas on what was happening to her. She walks — more like shuffles — to the left hallway, her eyes blurring like she was underwater, like she wasn’t even there in the first place. Her head pounds, someone screaming inside to be let out, but it was rather a shout or cry about suspicion. She trembles in her steps, feeling the world imploding around her—

And it does.

Before she can take another step with her light head and trembling feet, the ground below her implodes, giving her body just enough time to shout and take cover from the hole that had opened up at her feet. It was like time is working to the advantage of whoever had done this— she lifts her head blearily as she hears another sound of explosion, then her ears scream.

_ This was a trap _ , her mind supplies— she didn’t know where the thought had come from, but she finds herself believing it.  _ Is it _ ?

There was now a cracking sound on the walls— she snapped her head towards it and, before the massive cinder block-and-stone wall could come crashing down on her, she rolled on her back, trying to stand. She does — using the one of the still-standing walls for support — but she could not take a deep breath of relief as the ground she was standing on gives in, like it was a transparent illusion created by Lucifer so she can fall down in the deepest depths of hell.

Only she doesn’t fall forever towards hell; she lands gently — luckily too — on a cushion, but knowing her mistake she immediately gets up and starts running, trying to find the exit to this damned place. She ignores her headache and the now-noticeable limp on her right leg— she needs to get out of here, needs to reprimand those assholes for the rather faulty construction.

As if the whole world is against her, debris falls right in front of America as she finally spots the exit— on fire as well. Smoke rose out of the debris, and everything around her was in flames. Swearing to herself, she tears the sleeve of her uniform apart and ties it around her nose. She tried going around the cluster of burning objects, but smoke was blocking her vision, giving her a coughing fit.

“Fuck…”, she swears, staggering back, almost tripping on a pipe and landing on a sharp metal pike, just at the tip of her mouth. Beads of sweat drop from her skin and to the ground.

The entire world has gone up to flames, but instead of fighting it the entire world was dancing to its tune.

Her lungs were giving up now— being torn apart by the smoke and flames that had come alive at the mention of destruction, her eyes blurring as tears escaped her cheeks due to the smoke. She feels her whole body becoming weak, becoming nothing but a husk and a shell for what was about to come.

This is her end.

And for some reason, the only person she can think about before she died was—

She blinks, then looks at the hulking figure coming towards her.

Her eyes sharpen. “Canada?”

It was her younger brother; only now he didn’t seem worried about her current predicament or the fact that the entire building is collapsing— no, he looked to be stone-faced, an urgent expression crossing his face.

She immediately wakes up, “Canada, you have to help me! I can’t move from—” Before she could say anything else, however, he silently tears the badge — and her keys — away from her uniform, smirking triumphantly. Her eyes go round like saucers, her body going slack with shock and surprise.

(A rather ugly surprise.)

“Sorry sis, but I guess you’re better off dead than alive”, he says triumphantly, holding what made America  _ America _ like a trophy. “I can’t have you disrupting me and my mom’s life work; it’d be too easy getting caught by  _ you _ .”

“W-what? I don’t under-understand”, she sputters, the smoke coming through her lungs as her legs give out, “C-Canada- you can’t- you can’t just- I’m your  _ sister _ !”

He shrugs, “Sometimes, a life of crime is much better than  _ fighting _ crime with your family.” He makes his way towards an open window— it must’ve been where he had gotten through. "Thanks for triggering the building's 'destruction bomb', though- I hated the way this whole place seems to be looking."

“No!” She tries to stand— but immediately falls down, gasping in pain as her cheek touches heated debris. “I don’t- Canada… what’s gotten into you?”

He looks back at her, still smiling that triumphant smile. “Isn’t it obvious?”

All he got in response was a blank — but heartbroken — stare.

His smirk grows wider, and, in a low voice, he says, “I’m the Great White North.” He jumps out of the window, leaving his sister to suffer her grisly fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was the trickiest chapter to write - let's see if chapter 15 can beat that - since i rewrote a LOT of segments in this chapter, as it feels like it LACKS something (it still does) but i'm a LITTLE satisfied, somewhat.  
> anyways this is the second-to-last chapter, and chapter 15 is the final for part 1 (and it'll be split to two parts :,))


	15. All My Wolves Begin To Howl (xv, part i)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a reaction to Canada's crimes and Koku finally getting clues on what's going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name Guide:  
> Koku Nippon- Japan  
> Teikoku Nippon- Japan Empire  
> Ost- East Germany  
> Österreich- Austria

_ Despite the fact that he can only see pure — grey? — white in front of his vision, he can make out the silhouettes of those who  _ dared _ kidnap him and bring them to their lair. His hands were — of course — tied to the chair along with his body using a thick rope that he might mistake for a snake once it moves; he can hear voices around him, hushed and dim, like they think he is trying to eavesdrop on them so they move and talk as quietly as possible. His nose picks up at the scent of the room— musty and old; like the people around him did not bother if dust clogs up their nose or ears. _

_ He can still freely move his hands (a mistake on their part), despite the fact that his hands are tied across his back— no worries, he can get himself out of here in due time. As he moves and wriggles, trying to get the binds on his hands to unravel, the ropes coil tighter around him, a snake squeezing its prey— except for the fact this rope isn’t  _ technically _ a snake, it’s not alive, it’s just squeezing him tightly as he moves. _

_ (Is he afraid of snakes?) _

_ He bites his lip in concentration, feeling the cloth that is also sealed against his mouth and nose — irritatingly — pushing towards his lips, the smell of old reeking around him. He wants  _ out _. _

_ He tries remembering what his father had taught him whenever he encounters himself in situations like this— but he jumps at the sight of his father’s cold and stern gaze, an iceberg about to hit him with a stead of dozens of rough words and sharp jabs that makes his eye water; back when he was a sensitive little boy, unaware that sometimes — most of the time — not all parents can be loving towards their child. _

_ (He had learned that lesson fast enough, unlike his other siblings, who still cling on the fact that there is some remaining kindness hidden deep in their father— after all, they weren’t always sent to missions to murder their dad’s business rivals;  _ he is _.) _

_ After what feels like a few moments of struggling, he undoes the weak binds on his hands, smiling to himself. Even if he was disarmed (it’d be idiotic to keep his gun within arm’s reach), he can very well punch someone’s light out, beat someone to a pulp until they had no choice but to surrender. He then hears one of the voices — a man’s rather upbeat one — nearing him; he raises his eyes towards the silhouette and, counting down from three, tries to calculate when he will attack. _

Three… two… one…

_ He kicks at the man’s groin, eliciting a shout of pain from in front of him, and kicks him again, this time on the shin— he stumbles and falls towards the ground, like the weakling he is. Like wolves, the other men stand and enclose him, but he takes them all out easily (kneeing and kicking at weak spots, headbutting, ramming others with his chair), but as he is the last man standing (rather ridiculously, with a chair tied around him and his face covered in white cloth), the door opens, and a woman’s voice rings out. _

_ “ _ Mon Dieu , _ what happened here?” it was a rather sweet — and honey-laced — and charming voice, but he won’t be fooled, his face scrunching up at the woman he was intended to kill. _

_ (Well, his father wanted to kill her, but does he? Well, he has to at least show that he wanted to murder her — even if he doesn’t — since his father seems to hate her name and everything that involves her. Britain’s voice is law.) _

_He turns to face her, her face blocked by the blindfolds blocking his vision. “_ I _happened.” It was rather muffled, but he can get through with it._

_ She clicks her tongue, but instead of shooting him or starting a fight, he hears the sound of heels clicking against the floors, and her stopping right in front of him. Despite the cloth blocking him of his vision and smell, he can smell her strawberry-scented perfume, the way its tendrils of smell found its way towards his nose— and a haunting thought crosses through his brain: he had smelt this before. _

_ (He brushes it off— it must’ve been those cheap perfumes he smelt at the malls whenever his sister wants to try some of them.) _

_ He knows she is beautiful; dirty blonde locks falling towards her waist, curvy and milk-smooth, her dark blue eyes looking straight at him, unhindered by the fact that he had single-handedly taken down her henchmen. _

_ “What do you want from me?” he growls— he knows that she must’ve kidnapped him here to kill him; after all, he’s a son of Britain, and he had tried to murder the woman right in front of him. _

_ “I’m not here to kill you, Canada.” Her voice calms him down a little, his glare softening and morphing to a more curious look. Her voice was like a mother’s, now that he thinks about it— a side of him unlocks as he remembers what he had wanted most was to have a perfect, happy family; with a father, mother, him, and his siblings, together forever. Of course, that dream was crushed by Britain— obviously. _

_ “Oh?” he scoffs; he didn’t know why he was scoffing. “I’m Britain’s son. He ordered me to kill  you . But before I can put a bullet right between your eyes, you kidnapped me and held me captive. Now you’re saying you’re not going to kill me?” _

_ “You’re too young to die.” Her voice hides a strange sort of sadness, despondent and strained; the same way he hides his own sadness in. Her hands, smooth and soft even when the white cloth is blocking him, reaches towards his back and unties the white cloth around his eyes and mouth, finally free from that vision blockade, finally seeing the woman in front of him, looking sorrowful, her lips trembling. _

_ Once he is free of his binds, her lips curve upwards like a faint smile. “You grew to be a handsome young man.” Her hands roam his face, cupping it delicately— he did not push it away, feeling a connection. Her smile fades. “Too bad the bastard made you like this. Turned our  _ son _ into a killing machine.” _

_ He blinks a little, processing what she said, before genuine shock stretches across his face. He looks down at the woman, her delicate figure still in front of him. “Y-you…” _

_ “That’s right, Canada, I am your mother.” _

_ Looking at France’s determined and youthful face, Canada thinks it’s a dream come true. _

_ He has a mother, after all. _

* * *

Canada’s eyes move from his brothers — talking about his fate — down towards his handcuffs (whenever he moves it jingles; it would bring him joy clattering it around but it now reminds him that he is no longer free after this), and skirting towards the door that hosts America, whom he had saved in a last minute notice. He clinks his handcuffs, admiring its jingle, the jingle of now being imprisoned for his crimes.

What irony— he, a famed police officer (who has also caught criminals ranging from petty thievery to brutal murders) is now subjected to the same fate as he had once done to criminals. There is a slight coldness in the room as the noise he had made gets New Zealand and Australia to stop their — silent — conversation, turning to stare at him with blank eyes.

No more was the warmth of the fireplace kindling in them; like someone — him — blew them all out, leaving nothing but cold darkness.

They stare at him like a stranger, a criminal, and he stares at them back with inky blackness.

(It hurts him, of course, but it’s a price he must pay.)

“...Right”, Australia says, clicking his tongue, avoiding Canada’s eyes, “we got  _ that _ problem.”

In dire situations, whenever America is absent to take the role as a leader, Canada does; but now that he is convicted, it seems that Australia decides to assume the role— a rather strange look on his younger and vindictive brother, but no one is complaining.

“Don’t call Canada ‘ _ that _ ’”, New Zealand scoffs a little, glaring at his older brother in a poisonous way (he purses his lips), “he’s nothing to us now.”

(He can’t lie— that one hit him like a truck colliding with his body, but even worse.)

Australia’s dark blue eyes soften. “Kiwi, he’s still our brother——”

“Would our brother put America in such a dire situation?” he demands, voice straining, “would our brother sell  _ children _ to shady buyers? Would our brother join forces with France just so he can fulfill his petty revenge against our father? Would  _ Canada _ do that?”

Australia goes quiet. He too, cannot refute what his brother had just said.

The red-haired man was the first to breathe — for them — and looks at Canada coldly. “I’ll be arranging a trial for you, and in the meantime, me and Kiwi agreed you can be kept at the cell in the department.”

Canada nods, too numb to say anything. The pair leave him, but now with Philip and Vietnam on guard; while both were formidable cops, they were more distracted by what is happening around and neglect their posts (especially Philip), but for the sake of keeping even the tiniest bit of trust from his brothers, he stays put, boredly glaring at the walls as the pair bicker.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” A hand waves across his face, and he sighs a little as he raises his head towards a grinning Philip (either he’s grinning because Canada’s posture doesn’t scream ‘prideful’ or the fact that he’s not there to suspiciously watch over him). “I asked you a question.”

He raises a brow, “Which is?”

The other shrugs, “Dunno. Why you decided to get involved in the mob life and shit.”

Canada sneers, “Weren’t you involved in mobs before  _ and after _ you became a cop?”

His former colleague groes bright red — he really wants to laugh — before going back to talk to Vietnam, who’d been side-eyeing the both of them as they escalate with their conversation.

He goes back to glaring at the wall— wishing that he had enough willpower to wreck the boundary between him and America to see her again; even if he had staged her death, he backtracked. He loved her too much to let her die such a horrid death, even if his mother would be disappointed in him. Whenever he looks at his (half) sister’s face, her cold — but still breathing — limp body on his arms, he wants to go back in a time where he had not met his mother, back when everything was dark with Britain, but simple and joyous with his siblings.

Which is why he confessed in the first place— he can’t handle the grief and regret in him, a landslide of emotions destroying the stoic space he had thrived in, destroying every single secret and screaming them out in the open, knowing that it would cause his downfall in the worst possible way. God, he felt awful, to the point that slowly rotting in a small-padded cell was a good idea for him— but he can’t fathom to be alone with his thoughts anymore, feeling himself grow delusional over them; he can handle it, but it has bested him.

(He still remembered the moment he broke down and told everyone in the room about his crimes; from the way Australia and New Zealand were confused and asking if the smoke had overwhelmed him… to the way they stiffen, eyes widening as he talks about where the children are… to the way Australia grits his teeth and runs out the room as he confesses about dozens and hundreds of murders… and from how the handcuffs are put on him, bound to his destination.)

He wants to cry again— but he knows America will never forgive him, never forgive his sins.

* * *

**FORMER POLICE OFFICER, ARRESTED; FOR ASSAULT, ATTEMPTED MURDER, KIDNAPPING, AND CHILD TRAFFICKING**

“Aw.” Weimar chuckles as he reads the headlines for today, feeling satisfaction as he sees Canada’s face plastered on the front page— this is one of the best news that had ever reached his ears and eyes, and the fact that he was exposed just because he didn’t want his sister to die… how pathetic! He puffs out trails of his cigar, laughing to himself at Canada’s rather embarrassing situation.

“Poor Canada”, Teikoku says sarcastically, also eyeing the headlines, a cigarette in his mouth. “I finally figured out that  _ he _ snuck into my brothel and freed a prostitute. I’ve been searching for the gal ever since.”

“You’ll find her”, Weimar replies, his eyes still on the headlines— chuckling with amusement. “Seems that my inventor isn’t there to help me make more drones anymore.”

“What a  _ tragedy _ ”, Teikoku drawls, lighting up another cigarette. “So sad.”

“Not for you, it seems.”

“Not for me.” he repeats, a smile plastered on his face, “those drones gave you too much power.”

“I like power.”

“I know you do.”

Teikoku puffs out another cloud of smoke, knowing it will combine with the atoms that makes up pure air around them; but he knows it is not pure anymore, from the chemicals mixing in with the air they breathe everyday— he wonders when it will become useless, when it will become a hindrance for them as time goes on. “What about his mother? Won’t she go all weepy at the fact her precious son is in jail?”

Weimar shrugs, readjusting his position on his armchair to fit a rather comforting one, his mad eyes still roaming over the paper. “She won’t know until she comes back— she’s in her ‘safe-house’ in another city, you see.” He goes back to scanning the papers. “I still don’t understand why Canada thrust himself into a life of crime, knowing full well about his consequences.”

“He let his pride get in the way”, Teikoku answers simply; but it was more than that, he knows. “His mother is a master manipulator, but she can  _ never _ take away his kindness. Weakling.”

“Mothers seem to love kind sons rather than ambitious ones.” As he says this, his hands — subconsciously — move towards the beaded necklace on his neck, and his cold eyes return to its warmer state. “It seems your mother did not like your ambition.”

Teikoku smiles wryly, and Weimar has to laugh— he always knows where to ignite his friend’s flame. “We’ll see.”

* * *

Russia grips at the newspaper hard, his eyes wide, “Damn.” It’s all he can say, really— no one had ever expected America’s self-proclaimed right-hand-man to go rogue and try murder his sister for some sort of master plan his mother told him about.

Mongolia shrugs next to him, lighting up a cigarette (from what he observed, Mongolia’s been lighting up  _ fewer _ cigarettes than before). “Yeah, it’s like some cheap plot twist to subvert expectations.”

He rolls his eyes at his partner. He had a few — rather unpleasant — encounters with Mr. Right-Hand-Man-Turned-Criminal; out on the streets, selling drugs and illegal liquor, when he sees America’s brother climb out of a car rather elegantly, hands on his gun— that’s when he packs up as fast as he can and bolts away, hoping he wasn’t seen (he was).

Canada was…  _ strict _ , and somewhat uptight— America could never compare to his level of intimidation; a strange frost in spring, ice walls blocking an object to the other side, strong ice beneath the feet of someone skiing in the lakes.

Then he ends up in  _ jail _ — for — ironically — the same reasons he was catching criminals in the first place, like a twist of fate. He turns to look back at Mongolia, who was now hastily discarding a still full cigarette down towards the floor. “ _ Tovarich _ , why are you discarding perfectly good cigarettes down the floor?”

He purses his lips for a moment— a sign whether or not he should confide in Russia about what he is thinking of right now, before conceding to the — right — part of his brain, turning back to face his comrade. “It’s what… Minguk said after our date.”

He raises a brow; of course everyone knows about Mongolia’s date with a boy (no one knew the lucky guy’s name except for Kazakhstan, and now him)— he was one of the boys who had redecorated Mongolia’s room to look like a fancy, romantic getaway (Mongolia was  _ not _ happy about that), and now he is about to know the behind-the-scenes action.

“What did he say?”

His friend grows a shade of red— an embarrassed kind of red. “Well, we had our first kiss that night.” He recalls in a dreamy way, his lips curving upwards, trying for a smile, before it plummets back down to his comfortable frown. “Then when we parted Minguk complained about how I tasted like cigarettes.”

Russia couldn’t help but chortle, but stops when Mongolia fixes a glare at him. He hides the rest of his laughter and entertainment with a cough. “Right. Really horrible for you.”

“And that’s why I’m trying to calm my smoking habit down.”

“‘Cause Minguk complained about it?”

“Yeah.”

“And embarrassment?”

“Also that. And I know what you’re thinking— you will  _ not _ tell this to the others. It’s already fucking bad that Kazakhstan had been laughing his ass off during the ride back home. He isn’t acting as my chaperone ever again.”

Russia looks at him smugly, “All right, I won’t. I’ll save this after like… you two are married.”

His friend goes beet red, choking a little on his drink, and he howls.

* * *

America’s eyes open and close, like the beating of her heart.

She is awake now; but she doesn’t  _ want _ to be awake. She can still feel her body being in pain, despite the fact only her lungs had suffered the worst, like it is still being hammered by the smoke pouring in her, the fire not fully controlled inside her. She closes her eyes so she could not see the blurry details and faces in her room, especially the heart monitor on her right— but the damage was already done, and instead of being accepted back into the darkness, she sees red, her head pounding.

(When she was in her deep slumber, one question flitted through her mind; is this how the dead felt when they are dead?)

She can feel wires on her— she clenches her eyes shut, not wanting to be face-to-face with the sight of wires extending from her body to machinery, her chest aching as it inhales and exhales, trying to get her to breathe oxygen with it.

She wants to cry; but she hears people talking, and she will not cry in front of these people, not make herself look vulnerable to them. Her father had once said that crying shows weakness; something she’s always never tried to do, but has failed multiple times in her life.

(Some were private, where she would excuse herself formally — and in a proper way — towards her room, and there, she cried herself to sleep, or some were public, like that time Koku Nippon had wiped her tears away after she took Teikoku’s insult seriously.)

She clenches her eyes shut, trying to relax, to find her peace within. She wants to hear the voices now— and she’s sure that these are Australia and New Zealand’s voices, mixed with UN and NATO’s.

“I still find it hard to believe that Canada Anglo, a man with an impressive moral compass, would have done horrible deeds like kidnapping children”, UN says in that — rather irritating — ‘respectful’ and low voice of his, more like a drawl than a statement. “He is a respectable man, too good to be a vigilante——”

“Well, you better put your doubts away”, Australia’s voice— unmistakeable, but he seems…  _ older _ , much more mature than in the morning. “‘Cause he confessed everything to us in the meeting. And I’d appreciate it if you don’t put your nose into our business.”

UN looks taken aback — he always does — before staring at his colleague, hesitant, before nodding. “And he is a man of honesty, I know. We’ll be scheduling his trial, and NATO will get back to you shortly after it is discussed.”

Australia nods grimly, his lips still in a firm line— a rather peculiar expression from him. “Thank you.”

As UN and NATO leave, America opens her eyes, trying to breathe. Australia and Kiwi, like the kind and caring brothers they are, exchange relieved looks and — unsurprisingly — is now by her side, looking concerned, like she was a brittle child they need to care about. She wants to scream at them; she was no child, she was an adult who doesn’t need protection, but she keeps her mouth shut, knowing that they just miss her.

“W-where’s Canada?” she asks, her throat sore (either from inhaling smoke or general misuse), slowly burning inside of her.

“Just outside, being guarded by Vietnam and Philip”, New Zealand replies in a tone that suggests he was just as hit as the both of them by Canada’s betrayal. “His trial is soon.”

She nods solemnly— her mind drifts back to her brother, the only person who she could’ve trusted with all her life, but in the end he had tried murdering her in that building. She chokes a sob, trying to suppress it, as she remembered the times she and her brother had spent— it was like he was cut at the stem, and is trying to be whole himself again.

“Who… took me here?” she asks again, trying to hide her sadness.

“Canada did.” Australia’s eyes are trained on the floor as he says it.

There is a hint of surprise inside of America— it was not shocking that Canada would save someone who is about to die, but he was the one who orchestrated the murder in the first place, and he was also known for his ruthlessness. She recalls those kindly green eyes sparkling a flame deep inside her, encouraging her to be herself— and he cuts himself from her life.

“Oh. Was that how he got arrested?”

Kiwi shrugs, “He looked so grief-stricken and guilty, to the point he confessed everything for us. Australia was livid— he almost punched Canada if I didn’t hold him back.”

“You shouldn’t have”, their brother mutters.

America nods once again, not having the heart to reply, wanting to get out of the hell they are now all stuck in some sort of simulation where the person they trusted the most turned their backs on them. For what? That was the question in America’s head, and she intends to answer it. She finally raises her eyes towards her despondent-looking brothers (as a distraction for staring at her wires repeatedly), the heart monitor beeping in a monotone and solemn melody. “Why did he do all those things?”

Kiwi looks at her, “Do you remember the name ‘France’?”

France— it was one of the names their father had cursed the most whenever he was drunk or his plan did not work for him; he always blames the woman, for her skills, charm and wit, and she wonders if the rivalry had existed ever since the beginning of time. He had spat her name like it was poison, called her a lying snake, many inappropriate names (something involving France’s men), but in the end, she was linked to why Canada tried murdering her.

Then she remembers something about her and Canada’s final confrontation—

_ “I can’t have you disrupting me and my mom’s life work…” _

“She’s Canada’s  _ mother _ ”, she spits, anger flowing inside of her like a thousand shards has enlightened her suffering more.

Australia smiles bitterly, “Guess everyone here has mommy issues.”

“More like ‘Our Father Hid All Of His Women Who Might Be Our Mothers From Us’ issues”, New Zealand attempts at a joke which — to her relief — had thawed the tension in the room, as Australia — for the first time since coming here — snorts, America smiles lightly, and New Zealand mutters that it was not even that good.

“It wasn’t good; it was  _ better _ ”, Australia says, patting New Zealand’s back softly, and their younger brother laughs.

(It was usually Australia, the one that delivers the joke during serious situations, but now he was busy claiming Canada’s position.)

“So, what did the doctor say about me?” She rotates their attention from their defective brother to her condition.

“Well, the doctor said you had minor burns on your legs, but it was treated”, Australia replies, “also your lungs are a little bit weak after inhaling  _ that _ much smoke— but you’re okay.”

New Zealand looks at her, “But you’re taking a few days off from work.”

She almost immediately sits up, but she grabs the edges of her bed, trying to prevent herself from getting up. “ _ What _ ?! No way! If the doctor says I’m okay then I’m okay!”

“The doctor also says that you need to rest yourself from work a few days”, Australia pipes in, and she scowls at his rather late cue.

“Fine.” She leans back into her pillow, scowling at the ceiling— the milky white of it makes her miss her office even more, and even the Nippon household. “Australia, you’ll be filling in my position for that next few days.”

Australia raises his brows. “Really?”

She looks at him, a shine in her eyes. “Of course.”

His freckled face lights up into a smile— a childish one, but something she misses.

* * *

Weimar is back at their home again— like always, he brings those god-awful spying butterflies with him, and along with his children, looking frantic and scared, avoiding eye contact with their father like he was the plague. As always, Koku greets him in a respectful manner; after all, he’d be his father-in-law once he and Ost are married (to his displeasure). But he doesn’t want to look at Weimar— his eyes only look at him like he was prey, his smile cold and frigid as ever.

(He had tried to make small talk with him — for the sake of his brother — but every time he is around him his skin prickles with fright and cold— an irredeemable kind of cold that cannot be consulted by rubbing onto warmth.)

The butterflies flutter around him as well, much to his anxiety and irritation— he doesn’t want those spying butterflies looking at him wherever he goes. It makes him uneasy, seeing those; like he is being watched due to how they are designed, their wings and texture looking so real from far but fake and plastic once he has seen it up close— even Weimar’s butterfly-suit is watching him, the same way their owner watches him.

But he hides his fear and dislike of the man with a smile; a smile that almost always falters whenever Weimar smiles at him with knowing.

In times like this, he wishes America was here.

Three days after she had left with her brother, he hears no news of her (except for this one police officer getting arrested for attempted murder— but he doesn’t associate it with America’s absence). He’d been waiting for her to show up in a number of days, but every time he waits for her she does not come; instead the vacant space takes her place, following him around the halls. It was agonising, and it still is— even if he likes her, he can’t help but enjoy her company, her presence calmer than Teikoku, her maturity even more so than his nephews and niece.

And his mind drifts back to the time he kissed her—  _ twice _ .

Koku breathes in and out, trying to get the feeling of her under his arms and her lips out of his mind; instead he missed the way she would laugh at him with vigor and childishness (whenever he does something that was subtly funny in her point-of-view), her green eyes shining bright at him and her freckles that sprinkles around her body like stars… yes, he does miss her, and a dreadful feeling comes to him.

_ What if she doesn’t want to spend time with me anymore? _

It is a thought that kept him up all night — until now — ever since she did not show up to work. Teikoku was rather unhindered with her absence, so are the others (except for Palau, who shared his grief about America transformed into space), and he can see various images from his brain depicting her leaving him, one way or another.

He didn’t  _ want _ her to leave; not yet, not when he is still in the cold claws of his brother, who takes pleasure in hurting the residents inside of his home, poised to pounce when they are at their most vulnerable. He’s already missing her touch, missing how she would make him feel better in one way or another, like a galaxy had gone dark just because the stars refused to light up.

“Koku, are you awake?” comes the stern — and threatening — voice of his older brother, and he is forced to snap out of his daydream of spending time with America in the gardens. He tries not to jump at it, but he does.

“I am”, he says idly, embarrassingly, now that he notices dozens of eyes on him. “What is it?”

Teikoku narrows his eyes, before opening his mouth to speak again, “Me and Weimar have some things to discuss— spend time with Ost, understand?”

He nods, already knowing his routine. “Yes.”

Without a word, he and Weimar dissolve into another room, his wretched butterflies following after him— except for one, fluttering down towards Koku, Ost, and West. It lands on his shoulder; he flinches and knocks it off his shoulder, staggering back in the process. Ost and West look at the butterfly with fear in their eyes— Koku takes both of their hands and pulls them out into the gardens, before locking the doors; with the butterfly sealed inside.

(He usually does this, both to save himself and the children but also because he can’t take being surrounded by those insects.)

Once the coast is clear, Koku slumps into a bench, not minding Ost and West’s business, the two going back to what they were doing before (the girl texting on her phone, the boy reading a very thick book about physics). He still feels general discomfort around Ost — who can blame him — but in private, he makes general small talk with the twins in a five-feet distance.

So, fighting back his very strong discomfort (he is not comforting himself at the fact she’ll be his wife later on), he clears his throat. “So Ost, what did you do this past couple of days?”

(West glares at him.)

“Oh, I helped my brother sneak into the library at night to steal a book”, she deadpans, not looking up from her phone— who was she texting?

Beside her, West sputters. “I did  _ not _ steal the book! I was going to ask the librarian if I could borrow it but she was asleep!”

“Not asking for permission is not cool— remember what Österreich taught us?”

“Easy for you to say! You have a——” He immediately slams his mouth shut after drawing a black glare from his sister, and a cautious look at him.

Koku tilts his head, raising a brow. “She… has a what?”

Ost’s hands shake, her glare intensifying even more at her brother, who proceeds to melt at her glare. Then she turns to face Koku with a calm and sweet smile. “My brother’s being an idiot right now— he meant I have my father’s good graces.”

A look of hurt passes over West’s face, which didn’t go unnoticed by Koku, who frowns.

“What do you mean?”

Ost shrugs, “It means since I’m marrying  _ you _ ”, she casts a sordid glance at him, making his frown deepen more, “My father told me that I can have everything I wanted. Too bad he killed your dog, West.”

Her brother stays silent.

“Oh… that’s horrible.” He cringes at his statement— at least  _ sound _ a bit more sympathetic next time. “I’m sorry about your dog, West.”

West shrugs, “It’s fine, I was disobeying my dad anyway.”

“But to kill your dog——”

“It’s  _ fine _ .” He repeats again, this time venom coming out of his mouth, to the point he flinches at his words.

He narrows his eyes, but lets the subject drop— Weimar must be  _ that _ cruel to his children if he won’t let them keep a dog.

Ost goes back to texting someone on her phone, but West seems to be opening himself more to the conversation. “He was nice at first.”

His sister softens, her typing faltering for a moment, before hardening and going back to her conversation. “He was.”

Koku’s curiosity is piqued— he’s only met Weimar after Teikoku had announced that he was going to marry his daughter, and he was a horrifying man in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

West and Ost look at each other— a silent conversation using only their eyes, which is quite impressive to someone like Koku (who now longs to have a silent conversation with someone, anyone). Ost turns back at him, no longer focused on her cellphone, finally looking at him for the first time since they had come here.

“Even with our mother’s craziness, he was a nice dad”, she begins, her face clouding over like she was in the middle of a rainshower. “Even when the company was going bankrupt — we heard it from Doctor Österreich — he still managed to buy us the things we wanted, even if it was too costly for even his salary to make it up.”

“He spoiled us to a rather great extent”, West continues— his rather blunt statement takes Koku aback. “Our grandmother was fond of us, but also didn’t like it when her son started to give his children lavish presents— it doesn’t help us accommodate the fact that our grandfather’s fine company is now going to ruin now that the police had caught on to his crimes. Lucky for him he still had enough money to get out of the big house.”

“But of course due to him being associated with the underground life, the other companies around Pangea refuse to collaborate with him— either they didn’t want to be linked to his crimes or they want to withhold their reputation and impression.” Ost says all this without looking up from her phone (Koku actually wants her to maintain eye contact with him).

“That’s when he decided to retire and got our dad to inherit his seat in the company”, West shrugs, kicking on a pebble, “That’s when the first symptoms of him being ‘not himself’ started to appear.”

Koku takes a dark strand from his hair and starts playing with it, still high-key invested in the story. “Like?”

“Like… that time our mom finally disappeared. He looked pretty cold and frigid when they hauled her crushed — and dismembered — body from the elevator. Said she died from falling off the elevators.”

“Which — in my point-of-view — is rather suspicious as the Deutsche Towers elevators are never  _ that _ faulty——”

“Oh give it a break, Detective!” Ost throws her arms up exasperatedly, “Our mom died. Big deal. She was crazy to me, that’s it.”

“But don’t  _ you  _ think her death was strange? The circumstances of it——”

“We’re telling Koku about how our dad went crazy, not about how our mom died, West. So let’s just continue the story?” She glares at her brother once again, and he understands the look on her face, nodding. “Anyway, our dad was handed loads and  _ loads _ of debt to his rival companies that got caught in his attacks against them because Doctor Österreich and Mister Hungary’s conjoined company accused a minor businessman of a murder, and like, declared war on them. Needless to say, the police got involved and, with a humiliating defeat had to sign a contract and also pay debt to the companies affected by the mob war.”

“We don’t really know when our dad went crazy; one day he just locked himself in his room, and when he came out he looked so…  _ unhinged _ .” Ost shivers, like cold air had swept through her.

Koku had heard a lot about the mob war— it is one of the very first news that had ever come to him right after he was treated more like a person rather than an animal by his brother. He never really thought much about it; he is not affected by a few companies getting caught doing illegal crap behind the law’s back, since no one he has come close to had fully witnessed the mob war in Pangea. He merely stares blankly at the person talking about the mob war, before tuning it out like static.

But now he hears everything from people who were — slightly — affected by the crossfire in a good detail; now he feels rather guilty at the times he shoved it off his shoulders, knowing it won’t hinder him in the future.

It does, since his — sickeningly — future wife is affected by what happened during that time. He makes it a good deal to try comforting her (in his own way) in a much distant space, since he is not going to  _ touch _ her until she is old or comfortable enough to do so. He makes eye contact with her (well, he is staring at her but she’s staring at her phone), before saying, “I think I can see Weimar in a different light now.”

(That doesn’t excuse the fact that he tried getting him and America to eat human meat during lunch at their home.)

Ost looked at him; there was a look of sadness hidden deep beneath her emerald green eyes, waiting to be warmed. She goes back to looking at her phone. “Right, yeah.”

Silence resumes after that, and all of them are unwilling to break it.

  
  
  


Koku excuses himself from Ost and West, saying that he is going to get water for himself— but that isn’t true, nothing he ever says is. The truth is, he wanted to get away from them; part of his conscience chastises him for being unkind and neglecting those poor children, but they are drowned out with the resolve to get away from them for the time-being. As he makes his way towards the kitchens — to get another bowl of noodles — before hearing two voices approach down the same hallways he was emerging from.

Knowing that he will get reprimanded for not being in the gardens with Ost, he hides in a different hallway; one where he won’t see them, but he will hear their conversation.

“I feel so sorry for your brother, though”, comes the frigid voice of Weimar; it sends chills right up his spine as he hears him. But once again, he gets confused at the mention of him (it can’t be Tokyo) in Weimar’s statement. “She is going to tear him to pieces.”

He leans in closer— she? Who’s ‘she’?

“Well, my brother is known for liking strong females”, comes the smooth and amused voice of Teikoku, chuckling a little. “But don’t worry, he’ll snap out of his lover’s trance soon enough— especially once he finds out who she really is.”

“Why did you let her work here, if you want your secrets to be buried to the ground?”

“Don’t worry— unlike her, I’m always a step ahead.” They turn to another corridor, but out of immense curiosity screaming at him to go follow them — which he does — they stop near Teikoku’s office, still buried deep in their conversation.

“...America’s a rather smart young woman”, he hears Weimar continue, the butterflies perched on his shoulder now, “she can always plan ahead.”

“With the  _ help _ of Canada”, Teikoku replies; Koku remembered America’s brother— the question is what they mean by her planning ahead (he’d no doubts that she is smart) and about her brother. “Who — unfortunately — is now in confinement, thanks to his poor thinking skills.”

“True”, Weimar muses, “she had help from him trying to track down my father, who was caught in embezzlement and illegal prostitution.”

(Teikoku shifts slightly at the mention of it.)

“But now that Canada is out of the way, I think this little plan of hers will fall. And she will know not to mess with the Nippon family.”

“Such ambition”, Weimar drawls sarcastically, “Netherlands gave me information of where Poland’s warehouse of drugs are— and I will raid it this afternoon.”

Koku’s breath hitches; he may not know who this Poland is — and has no interest of knowing — but the way Weimar casually says that this man had drugs in a warehouse of his and wishing to raid it in the afternoon; it sounds like he is planning another war against a few mobs.

“Doesn’t Poland have many skilled guards?”

“Of course, but they have no match against me.”

“Be careful Weimar; pride is a deadly sin.”

“You be careful as well— Koku will do  _ anything _ to keep himself in your good graces, while also aiding the enemy.”

“What makes you think my brother is capable doing that?” Koku grits his teeth.

“Oh, the way he’s watching us right now.” His eyes widen in horror and shock; he detaches himself from the walls like it is a magma chamber, feeling himself growing cold, like he is freezing in place. He turns around, legs shaking, wondering how and why Weimar knew he was watching him right now. Then he sees it—

A green butterfly, its wings looking more like eyes staring back at him, reflecting his horrified face. He almost screams, but covers his mouth to hide himself from his brother and his friend— which was futile, since he slips on the floor in an effort to get away from said butterfly. He falls to the floor, right in front of a stone-faced Teikoku and a pleased-looking Weimar.

“Why, you were right”, Teikoku says stonily, his jaw tightening. “Koku, have you ever heard that eavesdropping on people’s conversations is rude?”

Koku swallows his scream, “Y-yes.”

“Why did you listen in on our conversation, then?”

“I-I didn’t mean to——”

“Koku”, Teikoku interrupts, voice softer this time; a sign that he is in danger, a sign that he is low-key angry and is trying hard to calm himself down. “You left Ost and West alone in those gardens, just so you can eavesdrop on us?”

He shakes his head rapidly, “N-no, it’s nothing like that——”

“Koku, since you made such a big mistake on your part, I’ll be asked if you go back to your room.” His crimson red eyes glare at him with danger, enough to make him run to his bedroom; where in which he closes and locks his doors, then his windows, and check every nook and cranny for butterflies (you can never be cautious enough).

Breathing heavily, he tries formulating deep thoughts of what he had just heard today; about America and Canada — and apparently his arrest — the reason why Weimar (somewhat) went mad, and his planned attack on Poland’s warehouse full of drugs. Taking another deep breath to relax himself and to relieve himself of his pain and whatnot, he walks over to his desk and pulls out a notebook he uses whenever he hears something that he shouldn’t have heard. Flipping to a blank page, he takes out his pencil and — with shaking hands — writes what he just heard.

_ Canada is America’s brother _ —  _ he showed up when I and America were hanging out, and took America away three days ago _

_ Today it is said that he is arrested for attempted murder, child trafficking, kidnapping; but the most crucial thing is that the headlines also echo the same crimes as him, except it was about a ‘police officer’ _

_ So is Canada the police officer being described in the news? Probably. _

Koku recalls the vivid image that Canada was wearing a police uniform the first time they met— with a rather hostile expression towards him and a curious expression at his sister. Perhaps his arrest affected America greatly — which is understandable — but the fact that she had not contacted him the past few days scares and worries him.

_ America must be in mourning and getting ready for her brother’s trial _

_ Or _

_ She _ _ was the one Canada is attempting to murder, after all I haven’t heard from her in the past few days, and the America I (might) know will never leave me alone all blind and stuff _

Now that he is thinking about it, he feels as if his second hypothesis is right; the fact that America was in danger for the past few days seems to have gripped on him more— like it is a part of the story but it was real, he can even taste it. Now he feels guilty, slumping on his seat; America was probably in the hospital right now (and he doesn’t even know what hospital she’s in), and here he is, sulking at the fact that she hasn’t been able to visit him in the past few days, comparing her absence to empty space.

He bites his lip— if America was still in danger, that means that she doesn’t want him to worry for her; she wants him to continue on living, as if she doesn’t matter to him at all.

But she does to his life— that’s the worst part of it all, if he is being honest.

He leans into his chair, trying to imagine America almost getting murdered by her brother (in a dark alley, no light at all, trying hard not to get stabbed at the back), her in a hospital bed (still unconscious, eyes closed, looking all serene— but everyone knows that she is fighting in her head), and now he worries for her even more. He leans in to write more of his observations in the notebook.

But there is something else about her that intrigues him now; her relationship with Teikoku and Weimar. It is quite clear from the — several — interactions she’s had with them that they know each other; but unfortunately, not in a good way. The way they both openly insult her (much to his chagrin and irritation) seems as if they have more history than even him and his family combined. He looks back at his notebook.

_ What’s the deal w/ Meri, Teikoku, and Weimar? _

_ Teikoku called her a sl*t, so is there a connection between that (offensive and horrible) word and their relationship (supposedly) back then? _

_ What about Weimar? His feelings for her seemed to be the same _

_ And then there’s them saying she’s plotting something… but what? _

He recalls the times he’s been with her; there was no streak of malicious intent (unless she teases him, but that’s something he actually likes) in her voice nor in her eyes; there’s just a strange look of fascination and eagerness in her face that he likes entertaining.

She’s just a friend— a friend who he likes, but nonetheless, there is nothing bad about her.

She’s not going to tear him into pieces— perhaps that is just hyperbole, an exaggeration.

_ Deutsches Reich: Weimar’s dad, former owner of the Deutsche Company and its many branches _ —  _ got into a war with many other mobs, making illegal stuff; in the end got busted by the police, and is now in severe debt _

_ I’ve met him before, but after a month or so when Weimar inherited his company he seemed to have disappeared. _

_ Was he the meat in the stew Weimar had served to us? _

_ Weimar (Deutsches Reich II is his full name): becomes the next owner of the company _ —  _ judging from the way West says it, he might have been involved in his wife’s murder/suicide _

_ Even the twins can’t pin-point the actual time he went insane _

He takes another deep breath— his brain tells him that this is off-limits, too much to handle for someone like him, but he only closes the notebook and putting it back on his drawer, trying to draw a hypothesis — or death wish, his mind supplies — in his own mind, knowing he can’t confide to anyone about what he is going to talk about.

His eyes close, breathing becoming even, as the lulls of sleep have become quite noticeable and obvious in his expression and posture, slumping a little on his desk; he immediately falls asleep soon after.

(He dreams of America during it; it wasn’t the usual ones where they were on a — platonic — picnic in the void; this one was her seated on a throne of luxurious gold, looking so much like a queen. He was beneath the feet of her throne, being thrown around by faceless monsters until one of them tears him apart—)

A few hours later, Tokyo (he states Teikoku is still angry at him) fetches a sleepy Koku to the dining hall for dinner.

He was still wondering about what the dream had meant.

* * *

Assuming a position that most believe would be more fit for either Canada or America is very draining— despite support from Kiwi (who refrain from reminiscing the time when Australia had freed inmates for a dance-off) and Villers (who shouted encouragements and baked his favorite pastry and gave him many kisses on his face), he is still paranoid at the fact he will fail at becoming a  _ good _ chief of police.

“When did UN say the time for the trial?” he asks, face buried with abandoned work America had slacked off from making (now that he thinks about it, he and his sister had a lot more in common— or maybe it was that Nippon guy making her put her work second).

Kiwi repeats the same question to the phone, before turning back to his older brother, “Thursday, ten in the morning.”

“Remind him  _ not _ to include news and camera men”, he says idly, going back to his — America’s — work. Kiwi says the same thing to the elder man, before hanging up with a courteous goodbye. Aussie sighs, already feeling exhausted just after an hour becoming acting chief of police during America’s absence and long-needed rest.

(She was freed from the hospital after a few more tests, and they wrestled her to stay in her apartment; her children were also there, so she wouldn’t have to get lonely or worried over trivial matters.)

“What’s wrong? Slumped with work?” Kiwi makes a half-hearted joke as he sits on Australia’s — America’s — desk.

He nods, rubbing at his eyes, “Yeah; who knew being chief would be so hard?”

“But America manages it”, Kiwi points out bluntly, “so you can manage it too.”

“The thing is, just an hour looking at the documents on my desk, I’m already feeling the sudden urge to sleep and hit the hay.”

“I think you need coffee; no need to be over dramatic about it.”

Australia rolls his eyes, cracking a smile. “Yeah, I think I need one; I won’t let stress get away with my happiness!”

Kiwi chuckles at that, and he stalks off to the coffee machine to serve his brother his long-awaited warm beverage. As his dark blue eyes skim over another sheet of paper, the phone on his desk rings, making him jump and flail papers around. He takes a deep breath, swearing at himself (and the phone) before answering it.

“Hello, chief of police speaking”, the word feels foreign in his mouth; like he is borrowing a word that does not belong to him, the same way he is assuming someone’s position. It makes him feel guilty, deflating on the spot.

“I thought America was chief of police?” a familiar, cold voice whispers through Australia’s ear, making his hands shake, almost letting the phone drop into the desk.

“U-um”, he stammers; he’s only had one encounter with this new Weimar, but he didn’t want to interact with him ever again after that incident in the Deutsche Towers. There was something wrong with him, something not right, like a door squeaking noisily to alert anyone of any intruder— especially that time when America had said he put human meat into the stew. “I’m acting as chief, sir.”

(He’s never really said ‘sir’ to Weimar until he had to act nice to him; even then it felt strange on his tongue to say that to him.)

“Oh right, she is resting”, he can feel the smile growing on his face, and he shivers a little. “Listen, I am calling because something urgent has happened.”

Australia quirks a brow, “Oh? How urgent, sir?”

“You know a man by the name of Poland, correct?”

Poland; yes, he was blackmailed by Deutsches’ father to work for him— even killing his parents with Österreich and Russia (the first one). “Yes. What about him?”

“Well, I fear that I have — accidentally — found one of his warehouses.”

Australia’s confusion peaks. What warehouses? He’s still not used to police vocabulary damn it! “And what’s so special about them?”

“I suspect that Poland has been brewing and storing drugs in this warehouse I’ve found.” Weimar’s voice is impatient, which is uncharacteristic of him, but his putting-off behavior is rather uncharacteristic and creepy too.

He quirks a brow. “Oh?  _ Poland _ storing and making drugs? Last time I checked, your  _ family  _ was the one who were making those.”

“Australia,  _ mein Junge _ , I know it’s hard for you to believe me— but I promise, Poland is truly making——” A gunshot rings out from behind him, making Australia jump at the loud sound.

“The hell was that?” he asks, distressed.

“Poland, he found my hiding place”, Weimar replies in a shaky sort of way; reminiscent of the old Weimar. “Please, I need your help.”

Australia stands up, just in time for Kiwi to enter with his coffee. He looks directly at him, stone-faced. “Bring the others here— we’re going somewhere.” Then, at Weimar, “Um, what’s the address?”

“Eastern Europe; Slavic Street!” Weimar exclaims before hanging up.

* * *

Poland glares at the little shadow being obviously cast in the light— he can already feel the anger and grudge against Weimar’s family hitting up again; not the same kind of fire that burnt through him during his time with his grandfather and father (who both mysteriously died under mysterious circumstances), with Österreich (who looked apologetic from time to time and taught him music to compensate) and with the first Russia (who was an asshole, by all means).

He was quite civil — at first, actually — with the young son of the first Deutsches Reich, he holds a grudge against his entire family; and now that the rumors of a ‘butterfly drone’ escapes the lips of his fellow — and enemy — mobs, his relationship with the second Deutsches Reich went from civil to wariness and hostility (and with a hint of fear). Aiming a gun at Weimar’s hiding place, he clicks his tongue in irritation.

“What do you want from me, Weimar?” he demands, approaching his supposed hiding place— heavy wooden boxes that house his most special ingredients. He did not want them to topple and reveal what he’s been doing.

“Soviet is never on your side, you know”, comes the echo of a voice; of Weimar’s voice. He subtly flinches at tone, relaxed, cool and composed, like he isn’t completely alone and surrounded with guns, about to fire at him.

Poland tries keeping his cool, “Oh please; we all know you’re a traitorous fox that won’t stop using people until he achieves what he finally wanted his entire life— and don’t bring Soviet into this.”

He doesn’t know whether to classify Soviet as a friend or acquaintance— on one hand, they converse and talk like friends would, but on the other, they only spend time during meetings or formal events that warrant their appearance.

(Whenever Poland offers to invite Soviet just to a bar uptown, he denies; which is uncharacteristic of him, as he loves beer and wine and vodka or any other intoxicating beverage.)

“He’s not your friend, I can tell”, he replies snidely, “in the end, if he had a chance, he would leave you to rot.”

He can’t help but let his anger flare, feeling quite offended by his remark, “Wow, such an interesting thing to say, Weimar; lucky for you, I have dozens of friends— all you have is your doctor and that rather putting-off man as your friend.” He narrows his eyes at the silhouette, “I’m pretty sure your children didn’t like you either.”

The shadow turns back, only to reveal a luminescent green eye, staring at him and his guards with fascination. He takes a step back, eyebrows furrowing; it seems like he is in danger— but he doesn’t know when to retreat.

“Talking about how my children don't love me is such a low blow”, Weimar says, feigning hurt, the shadow’s head tilting to an odd angle, emerald green eyes still staring back at them. “But I digress; I let them do what they wish to do— but Poland, you are guilty of a few crimes as well.”

A drop of sweat lands on his shoe, and he chuckles — nervously — averting his gaze from Weimar. “ _ You _ are guilty of a few crimes.”

“These boxes, right in front of me— do they have crystal meth in them?” Weimar asks so innocently, slyly, to the point he is taken aback.

His eyes widen in shock and horror, “H-how… what? How did you know?”

Weimar ignores him and continues on speaking, “You give your guards cocaine just so that they can stay loyal to you… I like the way you think— honestly, that’s what I’ve been doing to my guards and colleagues as well.” He chuckles playfully, “And let’s not forget about delivering a hundred-million net-worth of meth and cocaine to the Netherlands.”

Poland glares at him, “How did you know about those?”

“Easy; I  _ don’t _ .” As if on cue, the lights turn on (like they are controlled by Weimar) dramatically; what’s not so dramatic was that Poland and his crew are surrounded by officers and a shaking and frightened Weimar is holding on to Australia, looking so stern and poised— not the same man he met during Deutsches Reich’s trial.

(He had come to the trial late — and unannounced — wearing pajamas and a collar and looking as if he did not get a good night sleep; Australia was also carrying a cup of coffee with one hand, which he accidentally spills on the floor and slips on it… he passes out idly.

New Zealand was face-palming, America pretends that he’s not her brother while trying to stifle a laugh, and Canada’s cheeks were red with embarrassment.)

“Weimar here called us to investigate your warehouse here”, Australia says simply— there was an authority in his voice, something he had once lacked. “Something about you brewing drugs?”

Poland swallows the anxiety clawing at his throat, knowing his days are numbered— it wasn’t  _ his _ fault that he decided to get into the underground business; it was to keep his family’s company afloat, especially all those assassination attempts and bankruptcies it had faced in all its lifetimes. He tries not to let his anxiety and nervousness be visible; instead he manages to put on a rather civil — but shaky — smile towards the police (and Weimar, who looks so scared— like his old self).

“I believe there was a mistake”, he replies, “we don’t sell nor brew drugs here.”

Australia quirks a brow, “Oh? How do you explain…” He digs into his pockets, tongue sticking out, “Um…”

Weimar lets out an embarrassed sigh, “He said that those boxes over there carry packages of drugs to be distributed to many other underground mobs.”

“Wait, how did you know about that?” Poland asks, perplexed, before realising his mistake as soon as he said it; the boxes beside them did not carry drugs nor equipment— they carry unconcerning items like shampoo or lotions. He stares in horror at Weimar, who hides a distinguished smile before turning back to acting as the scared, cowardly man he used to be.

How did  _ he _ know?

Then he turns back to where he thought he had seen Weimar earlier, basking deep in the shadows; that was not Weimar at all— that was one of his famed and cursed spying butterflies.

“Well, we now know about your drug trade”, Australia’s younger brother — New Zealand? — replies, handcuffing a dumb-founded Poland, who did not move as his thoughts race with questions.

As he is hauled away into the police cars that line up, he sneaks a glance behind him; to see a smiling Weimar finally succeeding in his plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEEZE i did say i was going to split this in two parts, cause this part is 10k and boring 
> 
> part i is just like... an epilogue and interlude stuff for the real climax and fun to begin, and i am NOT gonna strain my wrists further into integrating part ii into this mess, cause oh boy, that's gonna be a real big whoozy.


	16. Oh Wake Me Up The Time Is Now (xv, part ii)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The climax--- the end of the First Act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i'm going to split this into two parts so it won't be that long!  
> also me: *writes 14.8k for this part*  
> yeah i'm taking a break.

America is going to kill her brothers— god, she’s so angry for the stupidest of reasons.

(She’s mostly angry at Canada for, well, _everything_.)

She doesn’t realise how much she misses her job (with the extension of her job at Koku’s place for some reason) until she steps foot — with the help of her brothers — on her apartment once again, feeling its lonely structure and aura resonating deep within every single room; she was scared, at first, finally comprehending the fact that she will be alone once again, during those sleepless nights where in which she hugs her pillows for company.

(She doesn’t express her gratitude when she is met by her children at the doorstep, accompanied by Villers, who wanted to help her with her children.)

But still, she’s quite angry at her brothers for the stupidest of reasons; she shouldn’t even be angry at the fact that they are trying to help her calm her injuries down.

(One time she had stubbed her toe at the office and Aussie started crying about how she won’t be able to walk again; to appease him she goes to the doctor to check up on it— an embarrassment.)

America conveniently retires to her signature armchair, bored out of her mind— she did not have any clue on what to do, as she watches Texas and Hawaii play with a few of her curlers (she reprimanded them a while ago not to use those; it falls into deaf ears), as she hears Villers hum from the kitchen, the giggling of Alaska and Florida near her.

Sometimes, she envies Villers— she envies how she’s such a natural with children, caring for them and knowing them even more than she knows; but her envy fades into pity as she remembers Villers can’t have a baby.

(It makes him feel sorry for her; but she knows that Villers didn’t want to be pitied on, only to be helped.)

Australia and New Zealand — before they return to the police station — had tried calming America down, comforting her and saying that they will take good care of the station before she comes back (she tries hard not to hurt them with her honest thoughts, instead burying herself deep into her chair). God, she already misses their voices already— Australia’s wild hair and smile, New Zealand’s intuition and sarcasm.

“America?” she is snapped out of her thoughts by a soft and smooth voice, and she looks towards Villers, holding a bowl of whatever it is — soup — on her hands.

“What is it?” she asks, knowing that she is going to get the soup treatment— she wasn’t _sick_ , of course; but maybe she is with her sore throat and exhausted face.

Villers wordlessly moves toward her, and hands her the bowl of soup— America’s hands come in contact with the warm bowl; it was warm and hot, of course, but nothing her hands couldn’t handle. It was like a warm and deep fire sweeping inside of her veins, trying its best to make her feel comfortable, to make her feel at home. She lifts the spoon into her mouth, and lets a smile escape her emotionless face for once; the fire deep inside her tries to thaw the icy anger, calming her down a little.

“Chicken soup”, Villers says simply, “Australia loves soups whenever he gets sick.” She sighs at the memory, and America wonders what is so appealing with looking at her brother all sickly.

“That’s weird”, America replies, her smile stretching, “‘cause we tried getting him to eat soups whenever he’s sick— but for some reason he never liked it, and we’re forced to feed him like the big baby he is.”

Villers laughs, “Yes, Kiwi told me about that the first time Australia got sick in my home.”

America shrugs, a smile hidden beneath the hardened exterior. “He must _really like_ your cooking to even consider liking soup.”

She nods a little, concealing a laugh from her hands.

She eats the soup silently, taking a few slurps to savour the flavour; she can see why Australia would love Villers’ cooking. It was good, and not just good— _godly_ , like Villers was a deity of cooking good food or something. Needless to say, the soup comforts her newfound vulnerability (she hates calling her injuries that) along with having Villers and the children with her in her lonely apartment, feeling not so lonely anymore.

(She forgot why she wanted to live alone in the first place— she terribly regrets it.)

“America?”

“Yeah?” America finishes the soup and puts it on the coffee table— Texas and Hawaii immediately takes a liking to it, asking if they can play with the bowl. Her heart melting at the sight of her children looking so enthusiastic, she says yes. When they run to one of the guest rooms, she turns her attention back to Villers. “What is it?”

She fidgets with her fingers, hesitating, before looking back at her, “What was the Nippon family like?”

America tilts her head to the side, Villers’ question surprising her a little. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, Australia’s been telling me how much you seemed to like hanging out with the Nippon family— too eager, he says.” When she sees America’s terse look, she backtracks a little, “O-oh, I didn’t mean it like that— Aussie was just venting about his problems at work to me, and I got curious, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked——”

“No, it’s alright”, America replies, holding up a hand to silence her, “You see, Teikoku’s an asshole who wants nothing more than to see me in his bed”, she shudders at the thought (and another feeling that Teikoku _had_ taken her to bed), “then there’s Tokyo who I kissed and seduced plenty of times just to get information… Okinawa is a cute baby though, Hokkaido is… eh, Palau is a sweetheart, and Koku is…” She trails off at the mention of Koku— suddenly plenty of feelings surge up inside of her.

She feels curiosity for Koku, the fact that he’s willing to pull at his secrets longer; she feels frustrated at him, like he’s a living and walking mystery, even if he was all smiles and courteousness; she is grateful for him, standing up to her at any given times; and she feels warmth whenever she talks about him, like the time a drunk Koku had kissed her twice.

All in all, what she feels for Koku is a conflict brewing up inside of her; going into a war, both of her sides arguing and fighting, trying to hold a middle ground for where Koku even belongs.

Swallowing dozens of profanities directed at Koku (about how warm and conflicting he is inside of her), she gives Villers a small smile, “Koku is… _interesting_.”

Her friend quirks a brow, already wanting to know more, “How interesting?”

America already regrets talking to Villers about Koku (even if it had just been three words), wondering if she should tell her friend about how she feels for Koku (a feeling where she wants to kiss then hit the guy)— she opens her mouth, like this movement can earn her a lie or a few about how she feels for Koku, but before she can let another word come out, they are promptly interrupted by a _BOOM_ — a boom so loud that the earth shakes.

“What the hell was that?” America demands, as she steadily hauls herself up with the use of her armchair, looking at Villers, who was quite terrified of what she had just heard.

She hears a few shrieks in the kitchen, and without a second thought of her aching legs, she staggers towards the room, her ears ringing, heart pounding; it is what she felt when she was at the ruins, but this feeling was much worse; instead of going through it alone, she, Villers, and her children are now in the way of harm. She almost falls down; luckily Villers — despite lacking physical strength — was able to catch her just in time.

Anxiety rushes in her as they reach the kitchen; no harm is done to her children — Florida, Alaska, and California — who are cuddling closer to one another, clearly shaken by what they just heard. They are also met with an alarmed-looking Texas and Hawaii, who are also both clutching each other.

She’s not good at comforting people — she was more of the opposite — but for the sake of her children, she feigns a nervous smile. “Don’t worry; it was just the construction across the street, and it’s natural for them to be so loud.”

(She ultimately cringes at the sound of her voice— it didn’t have the power of a mother’s, or the soothing powers that mothers have to carry so that their own child is safe.)

Suddenly, another _BOOM_ sounds out, rattling a few things in the kitchen, and making her kids all the more frightened. Instructing Villers to stay with the kids America — still not worried about her legs giving out — runs outside her apartment, and into the open world.

It was supposed to be a normal day; with the sun shining its ridiculously warm and bright light upon them (sometimes it is cloudy, and sometimes the sun doesn’t show up as it is replaced with torrents of rain), as people bustle down the streets to go to work or to schools, as others drive peacefully, completely without any sign of a scissor trying to disrupt the tranquility that hands on the air; that hangs on a thin string.

But today was _not_ a normal day.

The sun is hazy; like it reads the mood of the city below it, and resolves to hide itself in a cloud so that it would not see the complete chaos that had happened below. Cars were crowding in some part of the city, some buildings and houses are wrecked; windows broken and shattered, as the normal people (who had worked so hard to make themselves a home) run the other direction, away from the wave of destruction; like it is a tsunami, that the earthquake has happened and this is its damage.

On her right, an electrical pole is being brought down by an unruly mob, the wires sparking as it tumbles and crushes the car and house that is in its way; she compares it to an octopus, flailing for its life, wanting nothing more than to live. Beneath her, the usually smooth road is cracked— she wonders who had destroyed it, knowing some kind of heavy machinery had broken them; to slow down escaping cars, she realises.

America helplessly watches dissonance all around her; playing with fire, dancing with chaos, wrestling peace to the ground— then her fists clench, a sense of righting a wrong overwhelming her. Her jaw tightening, she turns her back to go back inside her apartment, before stopping entirely, as she sees something green up in the sky.

For some reason, her insides churn— her brain is screaming not to look up, not to answer the lingering curiosity deep inside her; but her curiosity burns faster, and she looks up at the hazy sky, full of smoke from the fires around her.

A green butterfly stares down at her, seemingly watching her misgivings.

* * *

Soviet was — unsurprisingly — angry. He glares at Inmin and Mongolia; the former looks scared, fidgeting a little as he glances across the room, his one remaining eye like a bouncing ball, while Mongolia looks unhindered, stoic, and expressionless; but the fear in his eyes is imminent.

He clicks his tongue; usually, some of his most pathetic workers have failed a few simple missions (like killing someone in cold blood, or arranging a raid towards other rival mobs, or smuggling drugs to accuse some high political figure of it) but these two are _not_ pathetic— they’re one of the best.

“Tell me”, he says slowly, in a low and calm voice, with a touch of a threat, “how you lost Renmin; again.”

(He just can’t seem to buy that Renmin — who was not slow but wasn’t fast enough as well — could outrun two of his fastest members.)

Mongolia opens his mouth to speak— he seems rather eager to speak these days (and he has the belief that the rumours of Mongolia having a boyfriend is true). “He escaped our eyes, sir; he stole one of your highly advanced cars, and must have escaped beneath the bridge unidentified.”

A silence fills the room; it is cold, not warm, frigid and chilly, something that both Inmin and Mongolia are supposed to be accustomed to — for living here their entire lives — but they shiver and freeze underneath his glare.

Soviet breathes in, but it doesn’t do anything to calm the hidden anger inside of him. “Reports from the others say that you are seen leading the car that Renmin is driving towards the shortcut to the river; and I would like to explain yourselves.”

“Is it not obvious of what we were doing, sir?” Mongolia’s voice is cool and composed; he usually does this to keep Soviet off-track, “we try tracking him down, but we lose him once he disappears through the trees.”

“I wouldn’t have doubted your testimony”, he props up his elbows, “but you and Inmin — but mostly Inmin — have a rather close relationship with Renmin.”

Mongolia’s face strains— it usually contorts to that whenever he tries holding back a witty remark, before responding, “He, like you said, is now a traitor in our little mob; we may have been loyal to him — and you — but not anymore.”

Soviet quirks a brow at him— he is quite aware of the rebellious acts Mongolia had done (like he is some kind of parental figure to be defied), and thinks hard about it; he sighs, letting the subject go, before turning his eyes towards Inmin who everybody knows is a die-hard Renmin fan, even to the end.

(He knows Inmin is only in awe of Soviet just of how intimidating he is, but now because he loves him— he, however, looks up to Renmin like a potential replacement as a father figure; it is obvious to see it deep in his one good eye.)

Inmin’s body starts to shake; a clear sign that he knows something nobody doesn’t. He smiles at the poor boy, teeth showing, his eyes glaring menacingly towards Inmin, who is shivering from either the frigid room or the fact he is now confronting Soviet himself. Mongolia rubs his back, away from Soviet’s eyes.

“What about you?” he asks, “you think of Renmin as your father figure; even basking in the same light as he once did. Why should I trust you, especially after you had spilled important information about Ost?”

Inmin’s body rattles, his body the only thing seemingly being influenced from the chaotic and discordant outside world (they had only found out about it a few hours ago— but Soviet has an idea how to exact a few petty revenges here and there and uses the dissonance as an advantage), which — in turn — lets out a boom; something the three of them are now used to by now, but it doesn’t help Inmin’s shaking cease.

Then finally, after a moment’s silence, and before Soviet was about to snap and point his gun at him, Inmin — finally — looked at him in the eyes. “That was before, well, everything happened”, he starts, staring hard and straight at Soviet (who finds this rather amusing), “I would have supported him against you, but when I was chasing him down, I thought long and hard— would my ‘father figure’ abandon me just because he had a spat with his fiancè? Would my so-called father figure just up and leave the mob because Soviet is manipulating a girl for vengeance against the Reich? Well, no, I don’t think fathers can do that to their own children.” Inmin breathes again, then out. “What I’m really saying, is that: I felt betrayed by him, honestly. I thought we had a special connection, and he finds what he’s been blindly searching for in a trio of kids to a father he was responsible for the death of. So, I decided to turn against him and pledged my allegiance to you.”

(Mongolia tries to maintain a straight face during Inmin’s speech, but it is clear he is close to laughing.)

Soviet hums, taken aback — but also proud — of how mature Inmin had come, of how he’s finally realised the way things worked around here. He looks at them both lazily, without a hint of a grievance left in his place, “Well, you both certainly have outdone yourselves— especially you, Inmin.” Inmin gives him a small — but bright — smile, and Mongolia pats him gently at the back. “However, I am honestly disappointed with how you moved slowly against Renmin, so I am going to have to give you another task.”

“What is it?” Inmin asks, almost eager.

Soviet lets a droplet of a smile across his lips, and pulls out a bomb in the drawers. The two stare at it, mesmerised.

He leans into them, closer, “I need you to put this in the Nippon Mansions.”

* * *

America dodges a few stones being thrown at her (by some rogue bandits in the run-down apartments), then jumps over a few broken logs, wires, and potholes (she has almost tripped and fallen into one of them), her chest aching to rest, her legs tiring and slowing her down. She looks up at the sky; the sun is glazed over by the smoke and clouds, not even bothering to show her the bright side of this discord-filled city.

(She honestly feels horrible to leave her children — and Villers — all alone in her home, but she can’t just make them go outside; somebody had fired on her head when she had started running; she never saw who shot it.)

Her legs are quite weak, even nimbler and thinner than they were before— but she wills herself to fight the growing pain, that is slowly spreading out into her veins, a wildfire and cataclysm of events happening, raining down on her steadfast.

(She shot the butterfly earlier; she didn’t know why she did that, but something is telling her they are involved in this.)

She doesn’t know which way it was to the police station; perhaps it is much more different to walk — or, in her case, run — than taking a car towards the station. She wouldn’t risk it though; tires can get stuck on potholes, or worse, _people_.

Her chest is heaving, she cannot see straight, but she still keeps on going, her thoughts racing back to the butterfly— she wonders where she had seen it before, and why it is so relevant and important right now to even remember those insects.

She skids to a stop as a giant fallen electrical pole comes into her vision; she needs a subversion, and fast; she does not like the eyes in the little alleys, the closed-off corners, and the cars in behind her. As she stares at the huge electrical pole blocking her vision _and_ keeping her from walking, she feels a hand roughly grab her on her shoulder. Instinctively pulling back, she knees him on the groin; a grunt soon follows, and a stumble.

(She knows it’s usually men who’d prey on her like this and — honestly — she’s getting tired of it.)

Reminding herself she has a gun (and that she can use it for drastic measures), she turns and faces the man who had tried to assault her, only for her frown to deepen more.

“Fuck you, you bitch”, Russia grunts, as he looks up at her, eyes full of hate. “God, you’re even worse than those girls in the whorehouses I visited.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” America says, eyes flaring. “What the hell do you want from me now?”

He opens his mouth, before groaning in pain— she didn’t know that she can hit _that_ hard. “God, do you _ever_ kick Koku like that?”

She curls her lips, trying to suppress a grin, “What about Koku?”

He shrugs, “Nothing; thought he was doing you.”

Her eyes flare with disgust, cheeks turning red, glaring at Russia. “He isn’t _doing_ me— nor anybody, in particular.”

(She wants to deck him so bad, but perhaps the kick on the groin made him lose his bouts of pride.)

“Huh, that’s kind of shocking, coming from _you_ who was rumoured to have had sex with all criminals to gain——”

“Shut the fuck up, Russia.” She grits her teeth, now really trying not to pull the trigger and shoot him between his eyes. “Just fucking tell me how to get across this damn thing.”

He — finally — gets up; she sees a resemblance between him and Soviet (despite not really being his father and hiding the fact that he’s been on the streets for years before he had found him), his stocky build, light blonde hair, and the signature cold glare from Soviet himself. She wonders how it would have been like to be living in Soviet’s homestead, and if it is better than living in the streets, pangs of hunger making each child suffer.

“Well, you obviously can’t climb the stupid thing while getting electrocuted the whole way”, Russia observes, “so the best way to go across this is around, but since this thing is as giant as Soviet’s di—”

“Russia”, America growls, “just _tell me_ how to get across.”

He looks at her briefly, then back at the gigantic electrical pole, “I thought you liked hearing— yeah okay, so we can’t go around it, nor over it.”

“So what’s the plan, Mister Drunkard?”

He scrunches his nose, like he is offended at such an overused nickname that is all about himself. “Don’t call me that; anyways, maybe we can get past this whole thing by going to the Hidden Corners.”

She blinks; she’s never heard of such a name before, except for the number of times rumours fly up into the air— about a hidden city deep in Pangea, unbeknownst to the outsiders who wanted to have a rather peaceful — and uneventful — life. “The _what_?” Before she can absolutely think to herself, she is pulled by Russia — using her wrist — to one of the rather old and run-down alleys. “And what are we doing here?”

Russia looks back at her, his face grim and serious, like a deathly secret is about to be revealed to her. “You’re a goddamn cop; I wonder if I can trust you.”

She sighs, crossing her arms, “Well, I’m trying to get to the police department——”

“It’s in ruin, if you’re asking.”

She stops, then looks at Russia like he was joking; he isn’t. “What?”

He shrugs, turning back to the huge wall behind him, and with his fingers he taps on a few — rather not concrete-sounding — walls, creating a hollow rhythm, a drum playing in the background. “It was one of the first buildings destroyed by the ceaseless crossfire against the mobs.”

“Is that what happened here? Mobs decided to jump out from their underground organisations just to attack innocent people?” There was a subtle worried tone in her voice; worried for her children and Villers, worried for Australia and New Zealand (and — by extension — Canada as well).

“Not without reason”, Russia replies, his forehead creased with sweat as he repeats a series of patterns of rhythm in a few remaining walls, “a certain _butterfly_ is responsible for the outbursts of the mobs, and why they came out of hiding with a bang.”

She frowns, suddenly remembering the butterfly that seemed to be staring, _watching_ her, which creates general discomfort inside of her. “What’s with the butterfly?”

He scoffs, “Oh please— haven’t you been to Weimar’s place? It’s full of those disgusting green critters, right?”

“Yeah? What about them?”

Before he can reply — perhaps a rather sarcastic explanation — a shadow blocks the rather hazy sun from above them. Hiding her gun in her pockets, America turns back, wondering who decided to interrupt her exposition-building with Russia (who didn’t look back, and instead was busy trying to get them in the Hidden Corners). Her frown morphs into a look of horror, as she comes face-to-face with her mother— Netherlands.

“Going somewhere?” she raises a brow at America, her tone mocking, as she reloads her — empty — gun. Her children — Belgium and Luxembourg — aim their pistols at her; they are surrounded, and there is nothing she can do about it.

“You know what? You’re a bitch”, America says, finding her voice in this time of need.

The elderly woman lowers her gun, narrowing her eyes at her. “What are you implying, _jij kleine hoer_?”

Belgium and Luxembourg (she’s still in disbelief these two are actually her siblings) snicker at their mother’s comment; even if she cannot understand a few dozen languages, she knows that what Netherlands has said is not pretty.

America raises a brow, “Oh? You didn’t know that you’ve been trying to kill your daughter for the past decades we’ve met each other?”

Netherlands’ children look at their mother, shock evident in their faces— not aware of her rather infamous and tainting past, it seems (after all, Luxembourg seems to have been born two or three years after she had been, and Belgium is younger than her brother, despite being taller). Their mother — and by extension, also _her_ mother — has a neutral expression on her face; clearly not believing her testament, or she had known since the beginning.

Then she laughs; it was quite soft and hollow, a little girl’s proper laugh at something funny— except, in situations where the world is about to end, it doesn’t seem laughable at all. “Of course I knew you were my daughter; I gave birth to you, after all.” She tilts her head, narrowing her eyes at America, who is shell-shocked— at the fact that Netherlands was aware of her being her daughter. “But I never really liked you.”

America sneers, trying to hold back her tears of hurt, “Well, fuck you then, _mom_ — shoot me if you’re so desperate to.”

Her mother shrugs, and her entire being deflates as she aims the gun at her head, a smug expression on her face, “Tell Britain I say hello.”

America clenches her eyes shut, her fists closing in on her gun— she knows that she has it, but she can’t just shoot Netherlands with it; Belgium and Luxembourg will shoot her before she even moves. She didn’t want to die, but looking at the gun in Netherlands’ hands and the thought of her heart stopping and herself feeling serene, she wonders what it truly was like to die (meanwhile, as she is currently facing a life-risking situation, Russia yells a swear word high in the air, still frustrated about not getting themselves into the Hidden Corners just in time).

Before she can hear the familiar sound of a gun being let off, she hears a pistol smacking bone, a grunt, and then a body dropping to the ground. She — cautiously — looks up, only to find Belgium hoisting up her unconscious mother with her sheer willpower. Luxembourg, meanwhile, was checking his reflection in his phone, muttering if he had any stray hairs (which he doesn’t, but he believes he has).

“What...?” She tilts her head at the scene, and Belgium looks at her, emitting a — rather tired — sigh.

“You should be thanking us”, Belgium says, as she carries her unconscious mother bridal style, expressionless. “We just saved your life.”

“I know”, she rolls her eyes, “but _why_?”

“If we didn’t save your ass back there, New Zealand would cancel our date that’d happen tonight at eight”, Luxembourg replies, still checking his reflection. “And I wouldn’t want my boyfriend to hate me forever.”

“You betrayed us just for a date”, his sister growls next to him, but he shrugs.

“I’m lonely, okay?” He puts his phone back in his pockets, then turns to look at America, a serious and sad look on his face. “And… you’re our sister.”

“ _Half_ -sister, but yeah”, Belgium adds, “and we’re gonna help you with your little problem in entering the Hidden Corners, since the big guy has _no idea what_ he’s doing.” Cue another profane word coming out of his mouth. She looks down at her mother in her arms, “Well, Luxembourg will help you with that little problem; I’ll have to carry our mom home.”

Her brother shoots her a worried look, “You are _not_ going back out there, Bel.”

She gives him a small look of pleading, “Lux, our hideout’s just a few blocks away; the Hidden Corners here won’t help me travel fast enough.”

“Bel, you might run into… _him_.”

His sister smiles at him; a smile to reassure him, to tell him that everything’s going to be all right and fine. “I’m strong— I can handle him and his butterflies.” Without another word, she props up her mother’s body and starts walking away from them— America wonders how strong she would be to withstand what Luxembourg is fearing. He watches her go, a sad and worried look in his eyes, before steeling himself, like he is reminding his body that he has another sister to watch out for as well.

Without glancing at America, he makes his way towards the alley’s mouldy walls, and shoves Russia out of the way (emitting a grumble from the taller man). Luxembourg — with disgust — starts to tap on the least mouldy walls; the ones that looked the newest out of the alley’s bricks, creating a hollow and soft rhythm— this time the music he is trying to make was rather smooth and better than the bombarding Russia had done, and soon, as if magic was truly real in this world, the walls seem to dance to Lux’s tune, swaying and giving way for the others to proceed.

America watches in amazement; she has never truly encountered advanced technology like this before, and only when UN or NATO or a few other companies have accomplished a rather large feat. The walls open like doors, a gateway to heaven, an escape from the darkness and into the light. Unlike the chaos that America had witnessed running in the streets of Pangea, everything is still in order; with people talking casually, a few shops and cafes opening, and even a huge and pure white dome covering the entire place.

Luxembourg looks at her with a small smile, “Welcome to the Hidden Corners.” Then he sneers at Russia, “For someone who’s Soviet Union’s ‘pet’, you don’t know the keys and combination to get to the Hidden Corners.”

He glares back at the smaller boy, almost leering from the light cast by the ruined Pangea and the utopian Hidden Corners. “That was the right set of codes— you just got lucky.”

Lux rolls his eyes, already stepping in into the utopian side of the city, “Sure I was.” Russia goes in after him, basking in the white light and — not wanting to be left behind — she follows, the walls creaking behind her, closing.

  
  


“So… who invented this place?” America asks, as she looks around; it appears the entire place is encased inside a dome, projecting white light into all its citizens, and all of its territories. She smells the bitter smell of coffee from a cafe right beside them. “I’ve never even heard — or seen — a place like this before.”

“That’s because you and your police pals like being on the surface of Pangea so much”, Russia throws his head up high, digging his hands into his pockets. He smiles at one of the ladies in a flower shop, who smiles before waving at him. “The Hidden Corners is a _paradise_.”

“But who made it?”

“UN did”, Lux says as he winks at a man reading a newspaper; he must be ignoring the fact that he has a would-be boyfriend in New Zealand. Seeing her questioning stare, he begins his tale, “the Hidden Corners was called Project Nations in its prime— its goal was to house criminals and help them rehabilitate, trapped in the Dome.” He points up at the huge disk. “It’s kind of weird that your or your brothers never even questioned the fact that each cell in the city’s prison are usually empty; the inmates only come back during lunch time, or sleeping— or not at all.”

“But why — and how — did the UN manage to do all this?”

Russia sneers, “‘Money makes the world go round’ _your words_. And also the fact that he’s signed a few dozen contracts about the well being of each of his workers and the criminals.” He inhales, and exhales; the entire air is full of good air, and not the ones that clogs up her nose whenever she does something. “Of course, the people living here are criminals who've done minor crap, like steal or break property.”

“If you do shit like murder — which we all are guilty of — you’d still be sent here, but under the watchful eye of UN and his allies.” Russia steals a bag of cookies protruding from a man’s pockets, in such a hurry he didn’t notice anything unusual. “The mobs found out about the Hidden Corners the same time you decided to leave the mob life behind you; turned the whole damn place into a safe haven, a place where no cops would ever bother to look at— because you'll never know it.”

America stares at Russia, then back at the place all mafia mobs and criminals call home— the Dome shines like the sun, rivalling its brightness and beauty, its shine and its glow. She can see why people would prefer living here, rather than in the underground sewers or fractured territories in the streets of Pangea; she wonders if they know all about the conflict and pandemonium outside of their Eden, outside of everything they have gotten themselves into. 

Then she furrows her brows, “How come the UN decided to keep this a secret from the cops? And how the hell did you know about me leaving the mob life?” She feels like a secret she had kept sheltered within her — and also her brothers’ secret — was just exposed.

“First question”, Luxembourg replies at the behest of Russia, who was now eyeing the bars, “UN didn’t want you to find out — or anybody else — about the Hidden Corners; it’s a place for only criminals, and you ain’t one.”

The taller man raises an eyebrow at her, “I’m not sure, Lux; I saw her kill this asshole who tried touching her the wrong way— beat the fucker to a pulp.”

She huffs, “It was self-defense.”

“Was it? I don’t think beating a man to death — with your own fists! — then shooting at him repeatedly and then spitting on him was ‘ _self-defense_ ’.”

“Holy shit”, Lux could barely contain how impressed he is, “seriously, America?”

Russia gives her a small smile, "I don't think she should be a police chief, let alone chief of police, if she killed someone-- the same thing that we guys from the mob usually do."

She can feel her cheeks redden— from burning anger, and her fists clenched shut and open, glaring at Russia, who was stifling laughter, his hands digging deep into his pockets. She was never really known for her cool-headedness — Canada wins a trophy for that — and she has proved countless times she can be stronger than any men who tried it with her. With a shout, she punches Russia on his right arm.

Russia hisses in pain — she must have hit an old wound — he was caught off guard again, but this time, he is back at his feet again in a steadfast recovery. He glares at her, icy hatred deep in his eyes (she’s seen those eyes just from Soviet, from the times she’s met her; she wonders how someone not related to him can have all of his features). “You little _bitch_.”

She ignores Luxembourg’s shout (it must have been something in the lines of, “What the absolute fuck are you both doing?!” due to how indignant he sounded), and one of Russia’s hands try grabs her wrist; she dodges, but he manages to have caught on her hair. She screams in pain as Russia pulls at it, his grip iron and her nerves twitching in pain. It was like someone is trying to pull all strands of her hair out, and she tries to get herself free from his hands, strong and tight around her.

His free hand then immediately tries holding her, a doll, a toy, but she immediately bites into one of the nearest fingers near her mouth— her teeth graze his skin, and she tastes the familiar flavour of copper and salt washing over her mouth. With a pained gurgle, he lets go of her, dropping her down to the floors— she lands on her feet, and making use of her height (she was short, and she loathed being short— unless it’s in a fight like this) to dodge another blow from Russia. She kicks him on the groin, making his face contort in pain, then uppercuts him on the jaw; he falls down, and before he can react, she stomps her shoe on his back as hard as she can.

She ignores the pain in her head, sweat forming at every inch of her body, her ragged breaths, glaring down at Russia below her— there was a pang of enjoyment seeing him looking like that, like he has surrendered just because he is pinned down by a lowly heel.

“You know what? Fuck you”, she says, her voice strained, probably from the fight or from screaming earlier, “I don’t give a fuck about what you think is self-defense— I mean, yeah, I went slightly overboard with that guy.”

“ _Slightly_?” he questions underneath her heel, but she presses it down, earning a groan from him.

She continues, ignoring him, “But everyone has to be taught self-defense; and rather, the art of controlling the shit that comes out of your mouth, because sometimes, it ain’t gonna be a pretty outcome for you.” Hearing no reply, she feels another burst of anger inside of her— she wonders why she is awfully angry today, and maybe it all started with her brothers urging her to take a few days off work (which, they both know, is something she dislikes). She sneers at him, gritting her teeth, “I swear to god, Russia; if I ever heard something like me ‘asking for it’ or the fact that I shouldn’t be a cop — let alone the police chief — I _will break_ your neck, right after I’m done with our arms and legs.”

Before she can let him go, however, she feels a pair of arms around her hips (which she did not appreciate, but she rather did not voice it for now), and feel herself floating away from Russia’s rather lost body, and her feet landing back on the pure white pavement; suddenly, adrenaline wears off, finally done being used for the day, and now she can feel the tiredness of her legs and how wary she feels right now— and the eyes around her, of course she won’t forget the eyes.

The eyes are much different than what she usually encountered back in her childhood— expectant, waiting to be amused, to be interested, to be fascinated. It was slightly the same when she was a police officer, before she finally got the seat of becoming police chief— expectant eyes, waiting for her to prove herself, a glint of lust and carnal affection here and there. Then there is when she becomes police chief— their eyes are full of relying, trust, panic and fear, always expecting her to have a plan (which she rarely has, and always asks Canada to help her— of course, he can’t help her now).

The eyes are shell-shocked, sitting in a stony silence, waiting and watching her every move— inmates and convicts that had perhaps done something more vile and cruel than she did with Russia; who, in turn, was swearing in his native language as a guy she has seen before (either from the quaint cafe she’s been in down the streets or the motorcycle parked illegally near a mall) tending to him.

She remembers that Luxembourg was still holding on to her (and frankly, she didn’t want men to hold her in a position _that_ long) and pushes him harshly so that she can be free of his grasp (“I’m gay, you know”, he replies soon after). The boy that was busily tending and calming down Russia then gives him to another boy, who looks a lot like him but older, his attention fixating on her. She stiffens in place, her fists clenched, getting ready for another person to reprimand her.

“Look, I don’t like what you did to my buddy over there”, he nods to Russia, and his posture makes her want to bark a laugh but she zips her lips shut. “But we also don’t want you to spill our secrets, about how we’ve taken to the Hidden Corners for shelter. So, me and Lux here are gonna escort you to the landmark of the police station— that’s where you’re going, right?”

She nods, her voice being blocked by stone deep inside her— then she finds it, deep in the depths of skin and bones, a low rumble. “Who the hell are you, anyways?”

“Yeah, it’s what I expected; you probably don’t remember me, but you can call me Tengri.”

  
  


America embraces Australia and New Zealand, now assembling a group hug with the three of them. She can’t hold the tears of worry back anymore; it spills down her cheeks, combined with a relieved smile and her heart bursting into flames at the sight of her brothers— wounded, but alive. She ignores the pain in her legs and lungs, knowing that it is not worth it if she never sees her brothers again. They were both laughing and crying too, relieved to see her as well, worried about everyone they had interacted with.

(Of course, nothing is the same without Canada; like he was invisible, simply a flurry of old tales and myths, but they don’t regard the space between them.)

They break the hug after a minute of suffocating affection, with Kiwi starting a fire so that they can bask in the warmth of the darkness of the alley. Australia looks around, clearly panicked; she already knows what he’s going to ask.

“Don’t worry, Villers is still inside my home with the children”, she tells him, “the outside world ain’t safe for her nor the kids.”

Her brother slumps in relief, clearly worried sick to the point he might break his own heart. “How did you know where to find us?” Australia asks, wiping tears away from his eyes (she will have to tell Villers about it later, and then he will intervene and say that his eyes are just sweating from sheer worry). “We kinda split up after the police station got blown.”

America looks at Tengri and Luxembourg, both sharing a can of beans like it is now lunch— she can’t tell her brothers about the Hidden Corners, since she made a promise to the both of them, so she simply shrugs. “I ran, and then came across this huge electrical pole standing in the way; Netherlands and her gang also ambushed me, but Belgium knocked her unconscious and Lux decided to help me get across— Tengri offered to give us both a ride, and he ended up like, jumping across the pole.” She feels horrible at the fact that she had lied to them, whether it was a half-truth and a half-lie— because even if there is some truth in it, it is still a fabrication of things to come.

“Whoa.” Australia goes starry-eyed— he usually does this when he is awestruck or impressed, or maybe both; New Zealand was also amused too, his expression rivalling his brother.

“Damn, Tengri’s a daredevil.” New Zealand glances at Lux and Tengri, eyes awestruck. Suddenly, he is harshly hit at the back, and with a grunt of pain he glares at a smug Australia.

“Dude, your boyfriend’s right across from Tengri”, he says in a smug manner, making his younger brother go red.

“He isn’t my boyfriend; we only went out like, once. But that’s it.”

America chuckles, “Sure he isn’t.” Then her face melts into a cold frown. “Okay, since I told you my story, would it be cool if you tell yours?”

Kiwi opens his mouth, about to begin the story, but Aussie’s eyes shine with intent, raising his arms and waving it around like a small child, much to his younger brother’s chagrin. “Ooh! Me! Me! I wanna tell the story! Pick me!”

She smiles a little— despite the fact they were hiding in a rather dirty alley full of garbage, Aussie’s mood is still bright; not as bright as the sun above them, but as bright as the shimmering stars all around them. Even the freckles in his face seem to glow with excitement. “All right, you go.”

“Make sure it isn’t dramatic as hell”, Kiwi mumbles, rolling his eyes as he lets Aussie grab the spotlight.

“Okay so basically we were working our butts off in the station”, Aussie begins, his breathing rapid, “after we arrested Poland——”

“Wait, you arrested Poland?” America interrupts, raising a brow, “why?”

“‘Cause Weimar caught him doing drugs or something”, Aussie replies, clearly irritated at the fact that he was interrupted. Seeing his sister’s raised eyebrow, he answers, “Poland has warehouses full of drugs and Weimar somehow found one of them; he’s currently in probation before the entire place collapsed.”

Her eyes went wide, “The entire place _collapsed_?”

He thinks for a moment, then rephrases, “No, not like that, more like the front was blown; I ordered the rest to split up, since a lot of mobs and people are gaining on us— for some reason. Then when me and my sheep-fucker brother went outside—” A groan from Kiwi at the nickname, “the entire city is in an apocalyptic scenery! Like zombie apocalypse minus the zombies— except if you count the members of the illegal life coming out from the sewers, then no zombies.”

He sucks in a breath, the continues, “During all the confusion, we made our way to Canada’s cell so he can come with us— but when we got there, there was no sign of him, except for a hole in the wall that means that someone blew up the station so they can bust him out.”

“I bet it’s France”, Kiwi adds with a raised eyebrow.

“What a momma’s boy”, America snorts.

Australia continues the story, “So, me and Kiwi decided to just run for our lives, away from the damned place and into the city; there we encountered a _lot_ of mobs— Soviet’s, Netherlands’, Spain’s — which is now fractured for some reason — and a lot more than that.” He shivers. “It was chilling.”

“Okay, but did you ever know how this all started?” she asks, still rather curious— Russia had told her it was all about the butterflies, but she’s not really sure. “Like, the mobs seem to be firing at one another, do you both know why?”

Australia thinks for a moment, before shrugging, “I’m not sure; Netherlands was there trying to blow Spain’s head off and Soviet meanwhile decided that Thailand was easy prey— which he isn’t. Someone must’ve told them crap, which is maybe the reason why they fired at one another.”

“Huh, Russia told me it was a green butterfly’s fault”, she muses, she then finds a full can of beans rolling towards her, and she stops it with her foot.

“Figuring you might be hungry”, Luxembourg says; but his eyes aren’t on her, rather they were on Kiwi’s hunched figure. He winks at him (which elicits disgust from the boy), before going back to his conversation with Tengri.

America passes the can of beans to Australia— she wasn’t strong enough to open the can with her own hands (Australia had opened cans with his fingers multiple times; either to impress his audience or just to gloat at his siblings). He opens it with a small grunt, and the three of them dig in; it was a rather unsanitary place to eat — and who knows where the can might’ve come from — but Aussie and Kiwi look like they’re starving.

(She remembers the distant childhood she once had; she and her siblings sharing a thin blanket — since Britain didn’t want to share his comfortable ones — in the fireplace, eating a warm bowl of soup, taking turns taking a scoop out of it.)

As she dips her spoon into the can of beans for the second time, a flash of green conquers her vision; she almost drops the spoon and can — Kiwi catches it, about to reprimand her — looking towards the source where she had seen it. However, there was nothing there; camouflaging into the wind.

“What is it?” Kiwi asks, as he takes a spoonful of beans, “did you see something?”

America stares at the spot where she’d seen the flash of green, but turns back to look at her brothers, “No, it was just my imagi——”

“We got one!” Luxembourg interrupts, before stomping at something on the ground; Tengri meanwhile, points a gun at it, rather careful and cautious, like the thing that they just caught will spring to life and enter into a carnivorous phase.

Kiwi, Australia, and America stand and immediately approach the two, looking like they caught an intruder in their territories.

“What’d you got?” she asks, pushing her way through, only to see a — familiar — green butterfly twitching on the floors.

Aussie gasps, “Why’d you kill such a harmless insect?” There is outrage in his voice; and America wants to bark a laugh at him, but there is something in the little critter that makes her think of bad candy, of bad omens. She narrows her eyes at the twitching thing— she wants to scream in outrage too, but she doesn’t have the energy nor investment to do so.

Tengri looks at Aussie, “‘ _Harmless_ ’? This little ass is the opposite of it.”

“It’s a _butterfly_ ”, Kiwi deadpans, crossing his arms, glaring at Luxembourg, “who happened to have flown too close to our way— why kill it?”

“This thing is dangerous!” Lux exclaims, his face full of seriousness— all the playfulness and flirtations vanish. “Do you know how many we caught lurking around our home, listening to our conversations? How its owner use them against us just because he wants his petty revenge to be settled? This thing has _eyes_ — it may be a butterfly but if you let it wander in your secrets too much, it becomes a dangerous being.”

“I don’t get it”, Aussie says, frowning, “how can a little insect like that be ‘ _watching_ ’ you?”

“Because it’s not an insect.” She means to say it in her head, clear of foreign voices like outside, but her mouth works against her brain— she can understand why she feels as if the insect’s wings are staring at her with those big, empty eye patterns; the way her blood runs cold whenever she sees one floating around her; and the pang of familiarity in it.

Tengri throws up his arms, “See? Somebody gets how dangerous they are.”

She lifts the — hopefully dead — butterfly with the tip of its wing; it had stopped twitching, but now there are sparks rattling out from its thorax— something a butterfly, nor any other insect won’t do when they die. She feels the texture of its wings; instead of it being silky smooth or tearing apart like paper under her grasp (with the exception of the number of times Lux had stomped on it), it is metallic-smooth; that’s not how a butterfly’s wings should feel.

(She should know; she has clasped pretty and elegant butterflies in her youth.)

Then she tears its thorax apart; wires stick out, more sparks being let out by the malfunctioning and broken ‘insect’. She stares at her audience; Aussie is looking at the former butterfly with an awestruck expression, Kiwi looks like someone had slapped him, Tengri looks amused, and Lux looks like he wants to wrap things up.

Then finally, her familiarity with it is upgraded into a memory; fuzzy, but clear at the same time. She meets the eyes of her audience, and without looking at the insect in her palms, she crushes it— the metal wings graze her slightly, making her bleed and feel a small hint of pain, but not as painful as her legs had felt when it ran a marathon this day.

“The butterflies belong to Weimar.”

* * *

Teikoku, when he was a child, enjoyed watching the sunset.

(It is a part of him that still retains a rather small piece of humanity— the fact that he can cherish the natural beauty of the entire world.)

Now, as an adult, he watches the world burn against the sky; he enjoys the sounds of the people down the towers screaming as another catastrophe bombards them, as another light from the weak sun rains down on them to try show them that there is still hope. His eyes roam the world he has known as a child— but now he towers over everything, no longer that emotionless and sociopathic child his mother hated so much.

A smile comes across his face; one of his more sincere and relaxed ones, without a hint of malice hidden in them. His legs dangle from the ledge of the Deutsche Towers; many fear death and decree it as their enemy but he welcomes death— he just hopes it will not take his limited mortality just before his plan for this city crumbling to ashes is set to work.

So, more like he has a love-hate relationship with Death.

“How does a butterfly whisper secrets to its target, anyway?” he asks Weimar, who was busily pouring wine into his cup. “It doesn’t have a mouth; it just has those eyes.”

Weimar makes his way towards the ledge, the tray of wine between the both of them; like Teikoku’s eyes, his emerald green eyes swirl with finding beauty in the dissonance.

“I find ways”, Weimar replies, an enigma of all his truths and lies buried deep in a reverie. He takes a cup from the tray, taking a sip, his eyes still trained at the smoke and shadow underneath them— he wants to step on the entire city who had wronged him, who had made him mad out of spite. “Anything to weaken the other mobs to the point they won’t know a much larger threat is looming over them.” A butterfly perches on his shoulder.

“Your butterflies give you treasures and gifts”, Teikoku says as he takes a small cup of wine from the tray. “I’m still surprised that they didn’t manage to figure out that those green butterflies they see around the meeting rooms are by you.”

Weimar waves his hands dismissively, “Oh don’t flatter me; some figured out and started destroying my life’s work— which is why I did this.” He opens his hands towards the great wide dissonance, smoke, screams and guns sounding from below. “A beautiful sight.”

“Indeed.” They both toast, still staring at the discordant city.

Teikoku cannot bear the silence— he has always lived in the languid intrigue of his father’s — and his step-mother’s — mighty rich expenses; silence to him is an enemy, a shame, a rather boring and uneventful way to express the hidden impression or clear distaste in the guise of not talking or clamouring up from pandemonium. He turns and faces his dear friend, still staring at the ruined city like it is a discovered game.

“How did you do it?— get them all to fight each other without raising a finger, I mean.” The curiosity burns inside him; he longed for a rather intricate and short plan to create chaos in the city himself, without shooting some high power, without having to hide the excruciatingly painful evidence from those who seek justice.

“Those butterflies are my little spies, as you know”, his ally replies, not once looking at him (and he _despises_ that feeling, like he’s now underneath Weimar, that he’s now second-best just after this man erupted years of distrust from the mobs), taking another huge gulp of his wine. “Each mob has had a shared distrust of most mobs in the many years we can all remember— I use their little secrets against each other, and my butterflies disperse; they carry said secrets of each mob to a targeted mob— and here we are now.” He smiles back down at a few mobs already firing at one another, completely in his own world.

“But why imprison Poland? Why let him rot in a cell rather than be eaten by the wolves?”

“Because, I have arranged evidence for Lithuania to be accused of imprisoning her brother, and the pact me and Soviet made to share Poland’s territories.” He stands from his place, taking the tray with him— soon Teikoku follows him.

“A rather interesting way to divert the fact that Australia and New Zealand found _you_.”

“‘Renowned Businessman, Arrested For Brewing Drugs— An Anonymous Tip-Off’”, Weimar recites the headlines, then raises a brow to Teikoku, as if proving a point. “The other mobs do not know of this.”

He can feel embarrassment and humiliation (even if it is quite a minor offense and correction, he still gets angry with it) heating his cheeks, but he swallows his pride down, a huge smile entering his face. “Ah, so what are the secrets you’ve spilled from each mob to the next?” He raises a brow. “I want to know— perhaps we can also use it against them.”

“Well, Soviet has a rather odd hobby with collecting young girls for his ‘collection’”, Weimar starts, a slight edge in his tone; Teikoku wonders if he found out that Soviet seems to be eyeing his daughter— which is why they need that marriage quickly. “Then Poland has — as you know — a most popular drug trade in the underground mobs; unfortunately his rather famous drug trade hadn’t reached the ears of bankrupt companies who were _dying_ to trade with him; since the big man is in jail now, his warehouses are up-for-grabs. Then there is Netherlands’ mob, who has a severed connection through Britain from America— apparently the wretched minx is her daughter.”

Teikoku snorts, “A minx having a minx; that sounds suitable.”

Weimar continues, “Spain’s mob has become fractured over the years, with most of her children leaving the pact— but it has fractured like glass really fast these past few days. Italy contacted me and wanted to start an alliance with me — and by extension, _you_ — and that got the others mad and fuming; in their eyes, I’m the bane of everything they stand for.”

Teikoku laughs, taking a swig of his wine, before pouring another once again, “It will be much more comfortable if those miscreants would ally instead instead of fighting us— I’ve sprinkled a few spies here and there, though not as effective as your butterflies, it helps me.”

His friend looks at him, “You even put a spy in the police station?”

He smiles, “Even in the police station.”

Weimar chuckles, as he raises his wine glass in an elevated position, now once again looking down at the city; the afternoon light fades into the lights of before-the-sun-setting, sprinkling its orange and warm glow into the night. He smiles at Teikoku, who raises his glass.

“To new beginnings?” Weimar states.

“To new beginnings.” They toast, and as they drink their wine, they hear another explosion near them, a cataclysm of events to come.

* * *

“ _Weimar_ owns those butterflies?” New Zealand says, quite dumbstruck, his mouth gaping as America finishes her thoughts and rambling about the times she has had encountered the butterflies before— she has no idea why they seem to be possibly in denial, as he and Australia themselves visited Weimar a week before she had encountered his new self.

“You seem to be in disbelief”, Tengri states, raising a brow, “when the truth is just right in front of you, in that butterfly.” He kicks it with the hilt of his shoe, and one of the wings flips to its side; Lux takes a look of it, reading it aloud.

“‘Deutsche Towers’.” He looks at the others, before shrugging. “Sounds like Weimar making those to me.”

“But how can he possibly make such a thing?” New Zealand splutters, trying to get his brain to explain the most phenomenal thing he has witnessed today (despite being blown in the face, in Aussie’s retelling). “No one can make an _android_ butterfly.”

“Well, Weimar did”, Aussie speaks up, “I don’t really care if he did all that ‘mumbo-jumbo’ voodoo stuff, but I’m telling you— spying with butterflies is kinda creepy.”

“ _Very_ ”, America speaks up, grimacing at the thought of the butterfly spying on her every night back at her apartment (she’d seen no signs of the butterflies before getting involved in the Nippon mess, but still). “We need to know how to disarm Weimar’s weapon.”

Tengri shrugs, “You can’t penetrate the Deutsche Towers— once a butterfly sees you, you’re fucking dead.”

“Why? The butterflies act like cameras and roam around the entire place searching for intruders, then calling the guards out with their own eyes?” Kiwi scoffs, crossing his arms, “sounds rather surreal to me.”

“Actually, the butterflies gun you down”, Lux exclaims, and their police entourage go pale, he shrugs. “One of the dumbasses in my group decided to point his gun at the butterflies; he got shot by this light-saber-like ray, and he died instantly.”

Tengri nods somberly, “One of my guys tried it too; shot multiple times before dying. We’re lucky that this butterfly here didn’t act and just stared at us; although the winged piece of shit probably had sent something back to Weimar already.”

“Jesus Christ on a bike”, Aussie mutters under his breath (America wanted to remind him that Villers would not like his potty-mouth, but now is not the time to joke). “How do we even get past them?”

Lux slumps a little, “We never could infiltrate the Deutsche Towers; even when the mad bastard’s asleep the butterflies are standing guard, actin’ like they have a mind of their own.”

Tengri sighs, poking at the fire with his stick, “‘Sides, even if we _could_ infiltrate the damned place, we can never get past his guards— even himself.” A small smile cracks at his lips, a river of easiness flowing in. “Even if I didn’t get past the Deutsche Towers, I got past the Nippon Mansion’s security; and let me tell you——”

“Why did you trespass in the Nippon Mansion?” interrupts America, her brows suddenly creasing; she’s been uncharacteristically silent this conversation, and Tengri has mistakenly decided to confide with a bunch of cops.

He drops his stick.

She stands from her seat, and Aussie and Kiwi flank her; a grim face is on her features, and she looks like a dam about to break. “Why the _hell_ did you trespass into the Nippon Mansion?” There is a hint of worry and anger in her voice (she doesn’t know why these emotions are present inside of her), but she tries masking it with her curiosity.

He sighs, “Soviet made me stick a bomb underneath it like… an hour ago.” He shrugs, then goes back to poking at the fire with his stick, like it’s the most casual pick-up of the conversation they’re having. “No big deal.”

Anger takes control of her; without thinking she hoists Tengri up with her own fists, then — with him grunting — she pushes his body against the wall; this is the second time she had decided to pick a fight with a boy, and Aussie and Kiwi shout reprimands at her— she ignores them, her mind foggy with anger.

“When will the bomb go off?” she growls— she questions herself why she cares, why she cares when an asshole’s house like Teikoku’s will blow, and the faces of both Koku and Palau show up, a sign that there are white sheep in a family full of black sheep. Her fingers encase around Mongolia’s throat, constricting his breathing a little. “ _When_?”

“Just after sunset”, he replies in small doses of breaths. Aussie and Kiwi pull her away, and she doesn’t put up a fight with them, watching Tengri heave a few breaths before collapsing; he is not dead, he just has trouble breathing— like she did in that burning museum.

Then, like a trick getting unravelled, she turns towards her two brothers, who hoists her up— it seems that her legs had once again given up on her, but now she has a new task; her green eyes glinting, she looks at her brothers, a sheepish look on her face. All at once, like they have the same soul and thoughts as she does, their faces went stony in understanding.

“ _No_ ”, Kiwi says as sternly as he can muster (Canada was the most stern with her, but he isn’t there to help her now), “you’re not going anywhere.”

“But I have to stop the bomb——”

“Meri, for god’s sake, stop thinking of others and think of yourself!” Aussie exclaims, desperation in his voice, his face sad, blue eyes shimmering with tears. “You are _not_ going out there— your legs are giving up!”

“I have to”, she replies stonily, glaring at her brothers, pushing them away— the cycle continues. “I need them to be safe, and the bomb not exploding.”

“What if you _die_ out there?” Aussie pleads. “Dammit Meri, we can’t lose anyone anymore!”

“You won’t lose me”, she says, in a rather defeated and promising tone— a complete opposite of what she is feeling inside right now. She puts her hands on Aussie and Kiwi’s shoulders, who look like they want to tag along with her; but they can’t, because her cover with Teikoku will be blown and an increase of suspicion from the other household members. She meets their eyes, pleading with them, “I promise.”

“Promises are meant to be broken, Meri”, Kiwi advises, hardening, “if you go on a suicide mission, we go too.”

She shakes her head, “No, I can’t have people tag along with me in this adventure— I have to go alone. I’m sorry.”

Tears are already spilling down Aussie’s cheeks, and he refuses to wipe them away, a reminder that if she dies out there she will leave a somber and despondent family behind. “If you fucking die out there… what will happen to the promise we made when we were kids?”

(A promise where the four will never be apart, even in the darkest of times.)

“A promise that was broken by _Canada_ ”, America retorts, “if I remember correctly, he was the instigator of that promise.”

“Just because one of us broke our promise doesn’t mean _you_ have to go and break it too!” Kiwi exclaims, letting out his tears.

“If you really wanna stop the bomb”, Tengri speaks up, finally recovered from that time she had strangled him, “you may want to go now— you have about half an hour before the entire thing’s gonna blow.”

She nods, then turns back to her brothers, who were already crying about her safety— she would have laughed at their faces like she always does, just to prove a point that she had survived, but this one is different; she is about to actually risk her life to save others (she has done that countless times in the past, she wonders why this one is so different), and maybe, that’s both an achievement and a curse to begin with.

Holding back her tears, she goes up to hug her brothers, who reciprocates her hug; she wonders if it will be the last time she will get to embrace them like this, all warm and comforting before they are taken away by the sense of dread and anxiety, away from all the feelings that had made her relax and calm. Then she breaks the hug, and a single tear spills from her cheek; she wipes it as quickly as she can, hoping that no one saw that she doesn’t want to risk her life for this.

She turns to Tengri, “Take me to the Nippon Mansion. _Now_.”

He nods, standing, seemingly unhindered from the fact that she had held him in a choke-hold just a minute ago, “Luckily I parked my bike in one of these alleyways before.” He turns to look at Aussie and Kiwi, whose eyes follow him to the back of the alley. “And Missus Police-Girl, tell your brothers to look away.”

Aussie opens his mouth to retort — maybe to demand him why — but America mutters for him to “Just do it.” The two turn away, as Tengri taps on the walls for rhythm— the walls give way a minute later, and he smiles as he hauls out a bike; a very familiar one at that, one America usually sees whenever they are chasing a rogue man.

He hops onto the bike, starting its engine, then looks at her with an unreadable expression, “C’mon, time's-a-wastin’.”

She immediately hops on the bike and — much to her displeasure — wraps her arms against Tengri’s waist (he shifts in discomfort from the touch), giving her brothers one last final look; she didn’t want them to worry, but here she is, about to go to the Nippon Mansions to try and stop a bomb from wreaking havoc.

“Lux, help them return to my apartment”, she tells her half-brother (she still feels strange at the fact that he’s her brother), she looks back at them, “I hope we can still have those weekly outings together, hm?” She tries for a small smile.

“Yeah, we hope so too”, Aussie sniffles, wiping more tears away from his eyes. “We love you, Meri.”

Her eyes soften, and her smile goes slack across her face, “I love you too.”

Tengri then drives away, and America — with her arms still holding tightly on his waist — looks back at her brothers, a distance away from her, dissolving into tiny specks of light.

She realises she had tears streaming down her cheeks.

* * *

Koku knows there’s something wrong inside the entire house— not because of the fact Teikoku is not in his office this day, but more because there is a more somber and tense air inside of the house that he cannot describe. As he walks around the house, the — unusually dark — curtains are sealed shut; and every time he tries unravelling the damn thing the maids advise him not to do it, lest he be punished by his brother. And he doesn’t want to be the brunt of Teikoku’s punishment, so he lets it be.

But there’s a strange feeling in his chest; like a ticking time-bomb, its rhythmic ticks becoming louder and louder as he walks through the halls, like a beating heart about to burst. He swallows down his undigested food, his legs feeling weak, as he walks around the halls; he can’t get the damn noise out of his head, and he feels like this is a warning.

Something is wrong with the house.

He makes it to Tokyo’s room, and — ignoring the pain in his head and the ticking he hears in his ears — he knocks on the door. His half-brother comes out, looking dishevelled as he usually is after spending his days locked in his room doing god-knows-what (and probably Teikoku knows what he’s doing too, with all those cameras around him).

He fixes his glasses and glares at Koku. “What do you want?”

Koku hears the ticking growing louder and louder by the minute, echoing in his ear and making his heart thump faster and harder, his insides coiling, “Do you think there’s something strange in the house today?”

He sighs, resting against the doors, “No, I think nothing’s wrong with this old house.”

It must be in his mind after all— a sign he should really start sleeping rather than answering those worksheets that his brother assigned to him to be done in the morning. “Oh. Mind I ask what you were doing in your room?”

He scowls, another hint that he does not want to disclose public information, “Actually, I was going to get out to get a nice dose of fresh air— don’t you agree?”

“The curtains are drawn— and I can’t go outside to the gardens today.”

His brother looks at him, dark brown hair almost covering his eyes, “Then _don’t_ go out— I suppose writing got boring for you?”

“No, my wrists ache, and I don’t really have any ideas on what to write.”

Tokyo — roughly — shoves him out of the way, barely glancing at him stumbling. “Well, I’m going to go to the basement, and if you would want to come, I’d be honoured if you don’t.” With that, he vanishes at the end of the hallway, leaving a frowning Koku in his place.

He sighs, “How is he my brother again?” The ticking grows louder any minute now, conquering his sense of hearing; he wants to scream, kick the noise away, its maddening sounds already driving him to the edge of his sanity.

(It makes him think a little about a poem he read in his spare time— about a man who supposedly heard his victim’s heartbeat underneath the floorboards.)

Just then, the doorbell rings, compromising a hole to enter from the incessant ticking in him. Curious to know who it is — and wanting to escape to the outside to get a breath of fresh air — he runs towards the door, hearing the relieving sound of the doorbell in the midst of his ticking. Without hesitation, he opens the door; only to stand frozen in the entrance, his mouth open, his eyes wide.

“Meri?”

She smiles — god, he realises how much he misses that smile — her hair messy and her eyes swollen (perhaps from crying, he deduces), “Hey, Koku.”

But that isn’t the only thing that has his attention; the entire world seemed to be burning across the sky.

He closes the door once America enters, her face turning back to her serious expression (he’d rather have her smile back, but since he sees the world outside, he decides now is not the time to smile); her eyes hardening as it shifts to the multiple doors in front of them.

(He also realises the ticking of the bomb inside his head has quieted down; not into total silence, but it becomes completely bearable to him.)

“Meri, what happened out there? What happened to _you_?” He can’t help but be worried for her, especially if his bodyguard shows up out of nowhere, looking calm and chilly despite the world seeming to be in ruin.

All of a sudden, she takes his wrist— he tries not to look surprised and shocked about it, because they’ve done this before, and now with her strength she pulls him towards her, but not even bothering to look at his direction, her eyes still staring at the doors, like she is waiting for a price to come through. He realises her palms were also sweaty, due to the anxiety and stress she must have been having for the past week.

“Koku, sweetie, I’ll try explaining about why I haven’t been here these past few days”, she says, finally looking at him, “if you help me search in every door.”

He frowns, “But why would you need to search each and every door? I’m not allowed to——”

“Because your life depends on it”, she replies impatiently, opening the first door and, seeing that it’s empty, she closes it, a face of frustration on her features. “You might _die_.”

His eyes widen, and he picks up his pace along with her, trying to walk by her side, “Why? What’s going on? Does it have to do with what’s happening outside?”

“It’s hard to explain——”

Koku skids to a stop, and with her still pulling on his wrist, she — stumbles — to a stop herself. She glares at Koku, questioning him, but he was the first to speak.

“You talk about how it’s hard to explain”, he begins calmly; it’s not just in his mind to be angry at people. “When you vanished for a few days, leaving me to worry about you, then you walk in here like nothing’s happening — even when it looks like Armageddon came — and then you tell me that our life’s in _danger_?”

“You think this is about you?” she asks, letting go of his wrist, “this isn’t about you Koku— everyone in this house is at stake, and you might not even make it to the evening.”

He feels his calm now being replaced by boiling anger, still frustrated and confused to why she’s still not spilling. “I _know_ it’s now about me; it’s the fact _you_ showed up in here, prophesying that we’re all going to _fucking die_ , and the fact that you won’t explain to me why the fuck we’re going to die.” His lips curl; he’s never really swore before. He’s actually surprised he can bring himself to even swear at the moment.

Her brow creases, and she sighs, averting her gaze. “Okay, look; someone planted a bomb in your house——”

“A _bomb_?” he exclaims, his face contorting in a panicked expression; he finally realises why he feels as if there is something wrong with the house, with something ticking inside of his ears, a warning of an omen about to come.

“Yeah, and the reason why the city looks like dog crap is because mobs are fighting _everywhere_.” She shrugs, then meets his gaze again, her eyes softening. “Now do you understand why?” Her voice is soft, softer than anything he can imagine.

He — slowly — nods, trying to make sure he’s heard her correctly, “Yeah, I think so. But what happened to you in the last few days? It isn’t you to just… _disappear_ like that.”

She sighs, her pace becoming faster as she and Koku (who now resolves to help her in her task), kicking open doors and whatnot to see what’s inside. “Family problems.”

“Ah.” Though it doesn’t really solve anything (especially of how vague she sounded— well, her answers regarding her life is usually vague and mysterious), it suffices with his suspicions about that police officer getting arrested; he wanted to know more about her family, but their mission to find the bomb and disarm it is more important than asking some questions he is quite sure Meri will dodge, avoid, and deflect.

The ticking in his ears — that had faded when he was standing in the entrance — had increased in its volume, and he tries hard not to wince at the sound; it is almost maddening at this point, warning him about his imminent death, his fate at the hands of an explosion happening or not. He stops in his tracks, feeling a vibration coming in from below him; his senses are telling him that the bomb is all the way down. His bodyguard realises he wasn’t following her, and she stops in her tracks to look at him.

“Koku, what are you waiting for?” she says, as she walks towards him, tugging at his sleeve like a small girl clinging to her parents.

“It’s just that…” He winces as another pain erupts, “I think the bomb is in the basement.”

She lets go of his sleeve, looking at him, shell-shocked, her mind rotating. Then they run down towards the stairs, to the basement full of Palau’s marine animals.

  
  


Koku didn’t know what to expect when they finally got there; perhaps all of the aquariums untouched, no bomb, the walls still full of its fluorescent aesthetic to represent the water— he wonders if the animals sometimes stare at the walls, thinking if this whole place is their home or that they know those water-covered walls are boundaries, where in which they can no longer escape to the wilderness they call home.

(He also sometimes has the role of feeding the animals; every once in a week he gets soaked with water because he’s rather inexperienced with taking care of the animals.)

What he didn’t expect is to find Tokyo removing a hard drive flask near the great white shark’s tank (who looks to be weaker than it normally had been a few days ago— maybe it needs to be let go, even if Palau would say no), Palau crying, ropes tied around her, near — actually _on_ — the ticking time-bomb; the timer is onto ten minutes, its numbers counting down too fast even as Koku tries willing it to slow down.

He looks at his half-brother, freezing a little, as if he is caught. “Did you tie Palau up with the bomb?”

His brother scowls, matching his expression right now— but beyond his glasses his eyes swirl with the familiar madness he has seen on Teikoku. “I did; she was being annoying, asking me why there’s a bomb in the middle of her ‘aquarium’ or why I’m scrambling as fast as I can to get the data I needed.”

“You monster”, America spits, as she rushes towards Palau, who is still straining against her binds. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and America herself looks desperate to get her out of here while also disarming the bomb.

Koku feels his fists clench, and he grits his teeth towards his brother, who finally has one last hard drive file, putting it in his pockets. Molten lava replaces the generous blue stream of water in him, and a clap of thunder and a streak of lightning rolls between his eyes. “What is in the hard drives that made you think murdering your niece is okay? Okay; no reason will ever make me think murdering your family — or friend, or acquaintance, or stranger — is okay.”

Tokyo laughs; it doesn’t fill Koku with cold dread like Teikoku’s laugh does (he even inches away from his brother whenever he does a small chuckle or snort) but it was mad, like he is giving up on his humanity in total. He looks back at his younger half-brother, a sneer on his face, “Sorry, but me and Teikoku have plans to make.” He digs into his pockets, trying, looking for something— his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and Koku tries not to smirk.

“Looking for this?” he asks, a gun on his hands, Tokyo goes pale. “I took this from you after you pushed me to go to the basement.” He raises a brow, suddenly feeling smug in this situation. “It seems that betraying your blood has its costs.”

Tokyo frowns a little, then laughs, his hands skirting towards the door knob, “You can’t catch me, _Koku_ ; I’ll already be in one of the planes before you catch me.” With that, he disappears into the wall; like a magic trick, except maybe it isn’t, and that he just used smoke and mirrors. Koku tries to run after his brother, but an incessant tug on his sleeves stops him.

“Koku”, Meri pleads with him, and finishes untying Palau. The bomb ticks, mocking the three of them (he wonders if the other aquatic animals know they are in significant danger rather than just swimming in circles), its digits counting down from seven minutes. “Even if you have a gun while you run after him, you can’t match him.”

He shakes his head, confused by her, “Meri, I can handle him; I’ve always handled Teikoku and Tokyo all by myself.” He looks at the wall Tokyo promptly disappeared in. “I know him by now, and I know he’d rather die than be a subject to Teikoku forever.” He stares at the bomb; he needs to finish this conversation quickly. He gazes back at America, whose green eyes are silently pleading with him to stay. He gingerly touches the hand that is precariously tugging at his sleeves, gently letting it go slack at her sides.

He caresses her cheek, her eyes still lingering with sadness and worry like he’s never seen before (there had only been one woman in his life who looked at him like that, but she’s gone forever). Then he leans in, and kisses her softly on the lips; his drunken haze a while ago had not given the kisses they shared enough justice; her lips were soft and full, her breathing shallow and warm, her taste like honey and beans and chicken soup. Then he lets go, a little dazed, a little warm inside; he knows America is as well, since she is staring at him with all but a new light. There is something different about her, but now is not the case.

The kiss is beautiful-- he only wishes that they'd kiss in a rather more suitable and not life-threatening scene.

“Be careful”, she whispers; he almost doesn’t hear it, but he does.

“I will.” And then he runs as fast as he can towards the wall Tokyo disappeared in, and — hoping he doesn’t collide with a concrete wall and a broken bone — he goes through, like he has passed through a soft curtain. He is in another set of staircases, and knowing that Tokyo must be already up the building, he sucks in a breath and starts running up the stairs.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” He hears him say between large breaths, bent over; the floors are glowing with the sun’s last glow— instead of thinking how beautiful the whole thing is, it reminds him about his — hopefully avoided — death just before evening wins the battle against the skies. He looks up, glaring at Tokyo (both because of the sinking sun being in front of him, and he is reminded of how repulsive his brother is).

“But I did”, he replies, as he approaches his brother, who in turn steps back, closer to the ledge. “I want to know about what you and Teikoku are planning; and what’s gotten into you.”

His brother laughs once again, but this one is strained and hurt. “Koku, sometimes people don’t deserve your kindness; especially with _that_ girl.”

“You mean America?” he replies, raising a brow, “I don’t know — and I don’t care — if you met each other in the past, because I still care about her.”

He sneers, “You should ask if she cares about you the same way as you do.”

Koku snorts, “She came back for me— came back to save us from getting bombed.”

“Oh Koku; still naive after all this time. You actually fell for her, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t reply; it’s already quite obvious that he is in love with her, in love with everything that she is. He meets his eyes, “So what if I did?”

He laughs, “Then you’re still blind, even today— even when Teikoku murdered your mother.”

“He murdered her because she was spreading her bad influence through me.” He bites his lip; he wonders if this is a lie, if this is a fabrication to make Teikoku look more like a saint rather than an enemy that had murdered the only person that loved him for him in all his life.

“Still brainwashed; I can work with that.” Tokyo smiles, stepping backwards, the heels of his feet now on the ledge.

Koku approaches him, slowly, his eyes in a panic— even if he had acted rather repulsively in the basement, he didn’t want him to fall off the building. “Tokyo… whatever you’re about to do… don’t do it.”

“No, I think I’m tired being our brother’s little henchman”, he replies, his lips in a full smile; but there is fear in his dark eyes, shining brighter than the sun just in front of them, being pulled into the sea of darkness. “If you don’t want to be brainwashed and manipulated by Teikoku… you better spend more time with that girl.”

And he falls backward; Koku lunges forward to hold his hand, but he is too late— Tokyo’s body, like a doll accidentally dropping from its owner’s hands, falls and falls, and so does the sun.

Koku watches him fall, stupidly, uselessly— when he finally sees his brother’s body in the ground, he finally lets the tears go, silently wishing that America has not disarmed the bomb so that he can die along with the others; he wonders if death would be rather fulfilling and beautiful rather than the life he’s been living.

But the ball of sun loses its light, drowning into the sea of darkness and stars, and night falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this is the end of the First Act --- i swear the Second Act will be more thoughtfully written and planned out --- and i'm so happy that i got up to writing to the end of the First Act, because i think i might've sprained my wrists to write the entire thing (not just the chapter, EVERYTHING).  
> i also would like to thank my friend @redffeather (in both tumblr and insta), the ameripan chat on amino, and aburielle in tumblr and discord- i wouldn't have made it into the final acts of part one without all your comments and encouragement for writing this.  
> SO, since i think i need a break rather than getting more and more invested in this damned cursed fic, i will be having a hiatus! idk when i'll be back but i hope that i actually plan the next Act more---
> 
> so uh, yeah  
> (also, can ya'll BELIEVE i wrote up to 15 chapters in THREE months?)


	17. Fifty Words For Murder; And I'm Every One of Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the attack and America's confusing feelings spiralling out of her control.
> 
> **ALSO WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EMOTIONAL/PHYSICAL ABUSE, MANIPULATION, AND ELEMENTS OF RAPE- IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS, YOU MAY HAVE TO SKIP SOME PARTS OF IT.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY I'M BACK WITH A 9.1K CHAPTER  
> this time i outlined Act II of this damn thing so it won't be as disastrous as the First Act :,D  
> also the chapter uploads might be a little less frequent (seriously, one chapter a week? i was spoiling you all for the sake of my hands) because idk H A N D S
> 
> Name Guide:  
> Teikoku Nippon- Japanese Empire  
> Koku Nippon- Japan  
> Österreich- Austria

_ Weimar turns the other way and drops the books he had been carrying from his previous class as he finds his things — that he had  _ just _ neatly ordered a while ago — all in clutter once again, as if a tempestuous storm had the insensitivity to wreak havoc in all the things he’s held dear. He recovers quickly (because this usually always happens whenever he is not around to bear witness to it) and kneels on floors, trying to inspect the damage those assholes had caused to his property. _

_ He could report this to the teachers— but then they will report all this to his parents; and then his father would scoff and brush it off while his mother will demand action and ask for consequences to those who even  _ dared  _ treating her son’s property that way, to the point she and his father would start arguing, which results to his father hitting his mother (the worst possible scenario) or his father insulting his mother before walking outside (perhaps to have relations with the whores again). _

_ Which means, he is not going to contact the teachers or his parents; he will have to take care of this little (‘little’ because it does not harm anyone else but him) problem all by himself, he supposes. His lips twitch as he uses his hands to try to find his art project (which he had been working on since a month ago and the deadline was today) through all the heaped clutter. Weimar prays that it hadn’t been damaged; if it was it meant he’ll have to start over again, and the deadline is  _ today.

_ Then he finds it— and his eyes droop with sadness never before seen. _

_ “Oh  _ nein nein nein _ ”, he rambles, as he takes out his art project— or, what  _ used _ to be his art project. He wonders how and why months — or years — of work tend to unravel and get ruined in a matter of seconds; it took a long while for it to be completed, but it was fragile as glass. The entire canvas was wet with water — someone must’ve brought a water bottle with them — and now the water colour paint was now peeling off. _

_ When Weimar had first seen the water colour paint touch the canvas gingerly, he had thought that the colours seemed to have come alive at a simple touch at the canvas; and when he had started stroking it with precise measures, with him trying to make sure that these strokes and paint were one and the same, living together and creating a whole new world in a white and blank canvas. _

_ But looking at it now, it seems that the magic he had felt every day and night while painting was a lie— the vibrant colours have become dull; the dynamic and setting sky his mother had praised (“It looks marvelous my  _ liebling _!” his mother says in the most enthusiastic and proudest voice she can muster— it makes him swell up in pride), the already grey buildings seemed to have melted into the canvas, the grey dripping into the skies and the cliff; now there was no such thing as perspective. _

_ God, he wanted to cry— but then his father’s voice echoes deep inside of his mind, stating that Men Should Not Cry. _

_ But seeing his art project — one of the few things in school that  _ didn’t  _ tire him out — in complete shambles makes him start sobbing; of course, he conceals those sobs with a hand as to not attract (even if most of the students are in classes) other students. He wouldn’t want to hear someone saying,  _ “Hey look Reich’s son is having a mental breakdown from his ruined project!”  _ and then taking photos of him in tears— and there will be a possibility that the pictures will circulate and will land on his father’s lap; and he has many elements of explaining to do, such as  _ “What were you thinking?”  _ or  _ “Didn’t I tell you Men Never Cry?”  _ or  _ “Did you realise you embarrassed the family name?”

_ (One time Weimar had cried after one of the neighbouring kids — who must have had a grudge against his family — after ‘ _ accidentally’  _ flattening his tire of his favourite bike; he got no love nor comfort from his father and told him he had shamed the family with his  _ ‘emotional needs’ _ , which caused his mother to explode on his father.) _

_ He feels hot, wet tears slide down his cheeks and into the painting, as if mocking him for the outcome of it. Thousands of thoughts race around his mind— some ask what he was going to do now that he doesn’t even have an art project to present, others ask who would even do shit like this, and the rest was voting unanimously whether they should kill them all or not. _

_ “What the hell happened here— oh.” He stops crying as soon as he hears someone else— the voice was familiar, but not too familiar for him to pinpoint on who the person who’s caught him crying was. It was low and rough, a storm already brewing but stopping at a mere moment’s notice. _

_ Then he feels a hand on his shoulder, much to his surprise; he jolts up and — trying not to be obvious — wipes his tears, almost jumping at the expression that the newcomer was wearing. He had smooth dark hair and crimson red eyes; like the blood that Weimar usually glimpses when he is doing something ill-willed such as try cutting (Österreich found him with a razor blade one time; he promised not to tell his mother if he would stop this  _ ‘nonsensical’ _ hobby of his). The stranger’s expression was stony— as if his face had never met the concept of having expressions, set into that default expression-less state. _

_ “Are you alright?” he asks, still in that stony and deep voice— Weimar immediately ceases crying (even a sniffle) and readjusted his glasses; now he knows who the other is. _

_ Teikoku Nippon— one of the most  _ ‘esteemed’ _ students from the teacher’s perspective; he was a formidable student, always passing the subjects, was also part of the sports team — baseball was his main sport, he recalls — and usually takes part of all those fund-raising activities (Weimar is not that interested in those, to be honest), which made him rather admirable in the eyes of the school. _

_ He was also a son of the rich businessman, Tokugawa Shogunate— whom he knows from various meetings between the other rich businessmen around the city talking about company stuff that he will have to do once he is an adult enough (much to his fear and anxiety, since the other heirs of each business never seemed to like him anyway). _

_ “Not really”, he decides to be honest— Teikoku seems like a trust-worthy person. He holds up the painting like it was a masterpiece (which it was, in his opinion). “Someone trashed my art project— it was due today and now I have  _ nothing _ to pass.” _

_ Teikoku takes a second’s glance before his eyes morph saying  _ “Oh” _ like it was the most emotional thing he could have said. Teikoku looks at him in an interested way, before saying, “Who would even do such a thing?” There was a small hint of emotion in his monotonous voice. _

_ Weimar — admittedly — did not want to accuse anyone, but his sadness and mourning has transformed into a fiery anger, burning everything in its path like hellfire; and he already knows the main suspects for the murder of his project (he wants to punch them— but his father is right when he says he does not have much of a strength), to the point he stands up abruptly, making the entire world spin right before his eyes— he readjusts his glasses, thinking it was the glasses’ and his vision’s fault. _

_ “I think I already know”, he replies, before sighing dejectedly, “but I’d rather not let you get into our arguments.” _

_ It was the wrong thing to say— Teikoku’s eyes light up and he tilts his head in the opposite direction, suddenly interested. “What kind of arguments?” _

_ He was lucky Weimar isn’t a very good liar either (except towards his parents— but his mother knows he is lying so he is not sure if that particularly counts), so he sighs and briefs him on the situation a little, “France and her family has some sort of ongoing rivalry with my dad and his company— so that meant I also have a rivalry against her.” _

_ “Wait;  _ you’re  _ Weimar, Deutsches Reich’s son?” he asks, clearly agog. “I have heard a lot about you from my father; apologies, I haven’t introduced myself— I’m Teikoku Nippon.” _

_ Weimar smiles earnestly, not really having the heart to interrupt him due to how nice he is being compared to his classmates, particularly France and Britain (those two are  _ made _ for each other). “I know— I apologise for not introducing myself to you either. Anyways, I feel like France or Britain were the ones who destroyed my project.” He looks back at his canvas’ pitying state, his eyes turning glassy and his anger subsiding once again. “Now I have nothing to pass for the subject.” _

_ And how was he going to tell his mother about how his teacher had reacted? She would be waiting home for him, for a wonderful news to befall on her while she tolerates her horrid husband and tries keeping a smile on her face at all costs (even when Weimar could clearly see that she wanted to cry underneath all that smiling façade) so that Weimar would be happy too. _

_ She will surely be disappointed— not unless he lies to her, but he cannot keep up a ‘good’ lie (the longest he could keep up was about an hour before tearfully confessing that he had not been telling the truth), and her eagerness will be ruined by more bad news being bombarded towards her. _

_ Teikoku looks around — like people weren’t spilling out of the corridors — before looking back at Weimar with the same face (he wonders if he had shed any kinds of emotions in his lifetime); but there was something else in his crimson red eyes now— his eyes shine with scheming. _

_ “When will you pass your art project?” he asks in that same voice, except more pushy and his face shows the right amount of interest on this topic. _

_ Weimar had no rights to lie— he thinks Teikoku will be helping him with his art project (although he has never received help in his life, except if it involves his mother), “I was going to pass it now; but I don’t really have anything to pass now.” _

_ Teikoku’s eyes light up— but there’s something malicious about it. “What do you mean? You can still pass your art project.” _

_ His brow furrows, “But I already told you; my art project is ruined.” _

_ The other boy raises a brow, “Doesn’t France have cheer-leading practice at this time?” _

_ “What do you mean?” But Teikoku was now staring at each locker; studying and calculating them — it is hard to tell with that monotonous expression of his — before leaning back against one of the lockers besides Weimar’s. _

_ “Do you know where France’s locker is?” he asks, his eyes still trained on the hallways. _

_ Weimar blinks at such an out-of-place question, but he points to one of the lockers (where he has seen France and her friends hang out). “Right there.” He blinks once again as Teikoku walks towards it. “Wait, what are you doing?” _

_ He pays the other no mind, pulling out a knife— much to his shock and fear. He immediately stands, already overcome with fear intense and bright, the same kind of fear that fills him whenever his father approaches him. _

_ (He would usually hide in the darkest and obscure corners of the house, hoping — and praying — that he would not be able to find him. He would always try minimizing his breaths and shaking, silent tears running down his face as he grits his teeth in a silent scream. _

_ But his father would always find his cowering form in almost any corner, and he will have a price to pay.) _

_ “Um… Teikoku… what are you  _ doing? _ ” he  _ loathes  _ how unsure and unsteady his voice sounds like, his question having the magnitude of someone asking a baby what they were doing (but at least their voices didn’t sound  _ that  _ pathetic). Truth be told, he has never expected — and seen — Teikoku pulling out a blade in plain daylight, but here they are now, with him being the sole witness (and also asking the deity above not to get killed by him). _

_ He looks back, his dark hair obscuring one of his eyes; much to his anxiety, Teikoku still did not have emotion in his eyes or face. Then he puts a finger to his lips— a sign that means whatever he is about to do, Weimar must keep it a secret. Weimar — being the coward he is — rampantly nods, pressing his lips together, while his body shakes in fear and his emerald green eyes hold the vault to his sanity and humility. _

(What if he blames the assault on France’s locker on me? Then Mama will think that I’m a delinquent!)

_ He gulps as he hears metal on metal; the knife penetrating the hinges of France’s locker as it makes a sharp squealing noise — like ones of a dying animal — as Teikoku forces the locker open with all his might— while he doesn’t look rather hindered or had even struggled while breaking someone else’s property. He drops the locker’s only protection from someone invading another’s property, which resulted in a loud  _ CLANG!  _ Across the entire hallway, and Weimar winces at the noise it made. _

_ Before he can run towards Teikoku, and question him on what he was doing and then demand what he’s done (he thought that the teacher’s  _ ‘Golden Student’  _ would at least know a bit of the law and actually  _ have  _ a moral compass), Teikoku’s eyes light up before taking out France’s canvas. _

_ (It was all pink and blue and red with drops of sunny yellows and grassy green— it was  _ definitely  _ France’s work, since she seems to like the concept of  _ ‘being free’  _ and  _ ‘breaking free from oppression’ _ — which means she really hates her father and wants to break free from his so-called  _ ‘rule’  _ over her.) _

_ Teikoku studies the entire thing carefully and with preciseness, before handing it over to Weimar, who stares at the canvas in his hands, rather befuddled. Why is Teikoku giving him France’s art project? _

_ He raises his eyes towards Teikoku, who seems to be looking at him expectantly; as if he is waiting for something to happen. _

_ “ _ Entschuldigung  _ — I uh, mean — pardon me, but why did you give me France’s project?” _

_ He tilts his head, an amused look on his face, “Don’t you ever wish for revenge?” He glances at the painting (he must’ve also liked it) before looking back towards Weimar with a small smile— which seems to be bordering on a sneer. “Besides, France didn’t sign her name on it yet.” _

_ Weimar finally gets what he is hinting at— but he splutters, “No- wait- I can’t just—” He takes a deep breath to steady himself, since Teikoku looks like he really wants to laugh. “Teikoku, I can’t just take what is someone else’s.” _

_ “Weimar, France  _ can’t  _ just destroy someone else’s property without suffering the consequences.” He looks possibly  _ mischievous  _ now. “So why don’t you go put your name on that  _ dreadful  _ artwork, and I’ll clean the mess France made up for you?” _

_ He still has a dam full of questions waiting to be answered, but one of them prevails, “Why did you help me? We don’t really know each other, to be honest.” _

_ Teikoku stares at him absently for a while, and Weimar thinks he’s done it; he has struck a nerve within him and would not resolve to help him ever again, but he smiles — wider and bordering on a look of being genuine — at him. _

_ “You look like you need help”, he replies, shrugging, “so I’m giving it to you in the way I know of.” And with that, he walks away from Weimar, whistling a tune under his breath, leaving him all alone with the canvas he had taken away from France’s locker— and he resolves to make use of the help his new friend gave him (would he call him that? Or will Teikoku — embarrassingly — correct him in public?). _

_ He pulls out a pen from his pockets (he has an assorted mix of colorful pens in almost all of his pockets, to the point he would hear them collide as he walks or runs— to be honest it soothes him, especially whenever he is confronted by someone) and writes his name at the back (in a cursive  _ ‘Weimar’  _ and  _ ‘Deutsches Reich’ _ ), before smiling at his new project, like he had not — unintentionally — stolen it from someone else, before walking to the room where he is supposed to submit it, already feeling happy — and pleased — at the thought of seeing France distressed. _

_ He whistles the tune his mother sings to him (until he reached the stage where his father deemed being sung to by his mother was  _ ‘unmasculine’ _ ), as he walks towards home, admiring the fresh feeling of the aftermath of rain and the enjoyment of avoiding puddles. He stares at the orange sky, signalising the end of the day, smiling to himself as the dying sun lights up his body and way towards home. _

_ Before he can take another step though, he is greeted by someone — undoubtedly — splashing him with rain-water. The runner skids to a stop before tending towards Weimar. _

_ “Oh, I am so sorry”, he says, his dark blue eyes widening in surprise and with an amount of sincerity for Weimar to stop feeling annoyed at him. “I didn’t mean to——” _

_ “It’s fine”, Weimar says with a smile; and it was. “You didn’t mean it. Don’t worry, my home is just right around the corner.” _

_ The other boy still looks apologetic though. “But really—” _

_ “It’s fine!” he exclaims, a little more forceful this time. _

_ He opens his mouth, about to say something (probably offering to dry-clean his clothes), before they are interrupted by another — male — voice. _

_ “Imsi!” he calls out to him, and the boy — Imsi — turns his head towards the speaker, “come on, me and Nabi are starving!” _

_ Imsi gives one last look of apology towards Weimar, before — hesitantly — catching up with his brother. _

* * *

Weimar fills Teikoku’s glass with red wine, and he — without even looking up from the paper he was reading — brings it onto his mouth, already tasting the bitter taste and its liquid burning through his throat as it reaches his stomach. Weimar, meanwhile, was sorting his papers out from the desk, humming something familiar (he remembers Weimar hums such lullabies ever since they met, but he doesn’t remember what). Weimar fixes his glasses and looks out at the window, smiling at the sun shining… and the entire city destroyed.

Well— ‘ _ destroyed _ ’ was a rather exaggerated way of putting it; more like a few buildings were destroyed, posts and trees were upturned, and people were wounded or causing riots; all because of each and every mob finally giving into their paranoia; which was easy to deal and manipulate with. Just a subtle nudge there, a hinted secret there, and spreading rumours quietly until everyone echoes it louder than the entire world— and they have the mobs destroying Pangea.

“Do you think it’s easy?” he asks Teikoku, who was filling himself another glass of wine (he has already downed his entire glass, prepared to get black-out drunk), his friend and — longest companion — turns to look at him with a raised brow. “Do you think that making the mobs destroy the city was too easy?”

Teikoku looks at his glass of wine, then back at him with an expression of content. “All of the mobs have our flaws as well; and the main one would be hubris. We are not as paranoid as they are — just the understandable amount — so we only have to aggravate their pride and paranoia’s symptoms to the point they act out— to which they did.” He takes a swig of wine, and puts the now-empty glass on the table.

Weimar nods agreeably, “How unfortunate they are to have someone like me watching over them.”

His friend smiles— all wobbly and distant, his mind already in a hazy place. “Yet fortunate for us.”

(Teikoku wonders if Weimar had also been spying on him— but he keeps that thought small and miniscule, as paranoia fuels his fear for the possible.)

They toast once again, hearing the familiar clinking of glass and the uniform drinking. Teikoku moves near towards the windows, smiling at the war-torn city; it was not  _ their _ fault that the entire city looked as if a hundred wars were fought in it. He was rather amazed — and surprised — at the sheer damage the mobs had caused in just about a single day. He turns back to his friend (he wonders if he should call him that anymore, due to the increasing wariness around him).

“You sent money for the rebuilding of the police department, I remember?” he asks, not particularly sure why he asked such a rather mundane and already-answered question. One of the reasons why Weimar had decided to donate  _ that much _ amount of money to those ‘little seekers of justice’ (despite the fact most of the cops there were corrupt and easy to bribe; a little money and promise of fulfilling their desires and they were all dancing to their tune now) was because the station and the Deutsche Family simply had a ‘falling out’ after Weimar’s father was arrested and put on trial.

So — regularly — when a single misfortune at the station happens, America has the gall to blame Weimar (she probably turns his name to a swear when something befalls on  _ her _ day-to-day activities).

“Yes, I did”, Weimar replies, “I still can’t believe I have to do that so America won’t find ways of blaming me.” He shrugs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Although she perhaps already knows the truth about those butterflies.”

He raises a brow, “Oh? Did she figure out about the butterfly’s eyes?”

“Yes, but all because that hit man of Soviet and Netherlands’ son spotted the butterfly first; I was aimed to shoot at them but they’ve intercepted me before I could even think.”

Teikoku smiles mischievously, interested — and relieved — to know that Weimar still has hidden weaknesses in him. “Sounds like you weren’t thinking well, my friend.”

Weimar flashes him a look of indignance, before settling into that calm and delighted smile (which doesn’t really scare Teikoku— the only thing that scares him are people being a step ahead from him). “I admit: I was caught rather off-guard by those two.”

They lapse back into their — surprisingly — comfortable silence, the both of them deep in their own thoughts, ideas, and plans to care for the other. They would usually share a few ideas of the plan they were thinking of — and omitting some parts of it — consulting each other’s knowledge and common sense as a way to fully flesh out their plan without even informing the entirety of it.

(Weimar used to be easy getting the entire plan that had blocked his minds from any other thoughts out in the open— but now he is keeping such secrets in the vault, and it’s driving Teikoku deeper into his fear and paranoia and whatnot.)

Teikoku takes a sip of his wine, intoxicating him even further— he can already see vivid images dancing across his eyes; turning from bright colours in this dim and dark room to the woman he had admired and desired the most in his entire life. If he weren’t such a powerful and renowned figure, he would’ve hired a cab and — drunkenly — shout the address of his brothel (without saying it is his, of course), before drunkenly navigating the halls until he finds  _ her _ and fuck the hell out of that woman.

She was too good for him— but he is desperate, and she has been with him for years; there is no possibility where she could get out of that damned place. He’s made sure of it.

He can already hear the sounds of her screams— a pleasure to his ears, while she is in such pain beyond what she can comprehend. She was a fragile being, and Teikoku loved ruining fragile toys to his own liking.

He smiles at the thought of seeing her again; but not tonight when the entire world has gone up to shambles— luckily enough he had hidden his brothel from the naked eye, and it would take a few mob members to find it.

His smile turns strained when he remembers that Shanghai — one of his oldest and most  _ popular _ women — had escaped; according to the surveillance cameras around the place. She was helped by Canada — that absolute  _ madman _ — to finally have a taste of fresh air.

His lackeys failed to find her, so he supposes he’ll have to take matters into his own hands.

Then they both hear a knock on the door, followed by a panicked Österreich bursting in (which the elderly man had stopped doing after Weimar had snapped), looking out of breath. He doesn’t direct his attention towards his nephew, but rather towards Teikoku.

“Sir, Koku just called me”, he says, still out of breath and seemingly panicking (which he almost always does), “he says that your brother, Tokyo, fell to his death.”

Silence again— but this time the silence sounds grim and solemn, as if Tokyo’s spirit was there to haunt him in the most boring of ways. Teikoku blinks; ever since he was a child he has always misunderstood the meaning of death, and now it shows.

(He had murdered Tokyo’s cat to try and study what will happen if he had killed it— much to his disappointment, not much, but he got a scream out of his brother when he dumped all of the remains of the cat on him, before that little crybaby called their mother and endured a mother’s beating for murdering their pet —  _ Tokyo’s pet _ , he insists — and for making his younger brother cry.)

“Ah.” He responds, draining his wine rapidly before putting it back on the table, and then standing up; the entire room looks like a museum and kaleidoscope of colours, and he can even see Tokyo staring at him in one of the room’s corners. He frowns at that little image, squinting harder until Tokyo is gone— a figment of his imagination, intent on breaking him down in the most molecular levels.

_ It was about time he actually killed himself _ , he thinks to himself. He faces Weimar and his uncle, before thanking their hospitality and patience for serving them, then calling Hokkaido to fetch him.

Was he surprised at the fact that Tokyo had killed himself?  _ Mildly _ ; he has threatened killing himself ever since Teikoku made the ‘ _ mistake _ ’ of murdering their mother (he was — and never will be — not  _ that _ attached towards their mother, especially when she makes her maddening inquiries about how Teikoku is evil). But that didn’t stop his brother from turning into his accomplice, willing to kill their father and turn their weak little half-brother into their puppet; he didn’t comment against such vices.

He knew that his coward of a brother was going to kill himself sooner or later, but not  _ this _ soon.

From his drunken haze, he says to his son, “Hokkaido, call the Funeral Services.” He’ll just have to fake his heartbreak and grief since his beloved brother had departed  _ so _ early this time. But then again; he felt the need to strangle Tokyo’s corpse to the point that little bastard and coward was unrecognisable; suppose he’d resurrect him again and again to inflict all kinds of torture so he can realise what he had done now.

After all, who was going to keep his secrets from that little minx now?

* * *

Koku closes his eyes, welcoming the darkness like an old friend — which it was — the inky black depths sharing the sky’s orange and yellow colours, the raptured flames of a dying and ill sun. He breathes in and out, trying to calm his beating heart and how he feels so serene despite him not even being in peace; how could he be at peace when his brother has fallen to his death, and his mangled corpse is  _ just down there _ ?

He grits his teeth, blinking back tears of guilt; Tokyo, his brother, is now dead.

_ Because of you _ , his inner voice supplies, suspiciously sounding a lot like Teikoku does; his words and the tone of his voice kindly, but the way he inputs his words in his head were cruel and harsh— all while he has this small smile on his lips, a fabrication of his motives.

(There was this time where Koku had accidentally broken a glass— he had been trembling all over, like he was stuck in the winter cold with nowhere to go, and from the corner of his eye Teikoku makes his way towards him, his face hard as steel and lips pursed into a firm line. He kneels beside his younger brother, worsening his fear and shaking even more; he had been witness of how  _ Otosan _ had harshly reprimanded him after breaking his priced vase — which looked like any other ordinary vase, Koku had defended — and now he wonders if Teikoku was going to shout at him, and that makes him even scared.

But his elder brother just smirks and pats him on the shoulder, much to his confusion. He looks up into those ambitious red eyes, awaiting his punishment.

“Oh Koku,  _ īnda yo— _ you just broke fragile glass”, he says in a soothing manner; enough to help Koku’s fears lessen. “But we can’t just let you go unpunished.”

Koku trembles once again, “W-will y-you hit m-me l-like  _ Otosan _ did?” He cannot keep himself from trembling— this is truly making him give into his anxiety.

Teikoku scoffs as if that was the most mundane of punishments, before leaning closer until his cold lips are on his ear. “Pick up those little shards of glass,  _ taiyō _ .” He uses the nickname his mother frequently calls him by; he is suddenly reminded that she is dead.

The child whirls to his direction, frowning, “B-but those shards will hurt my hands and feet—” He is interrupted by a pang of pain, reaching all different sections of his body; he cries out in pain, before falling near the shattered shards, almost pricking his fingers with a nearby one. He looks up to the image of Teikoku glaring down at him, no more trace of his smile on his face.

“I gave you a punishment”, he says, seething uncontrollably, “because  _ you _ deserve it— you are disrespectful to the property that we have given you to  _ care _ about in this house, so why should I care about your feelings because you’re too weak to pick up shards of glass? Do you want to know how that poor glass felt when you shattered it into pieces?  _ Hurt _ , Koku; since you are so hesitant and whiny about your punishment, I’ll add a few more rules to the said disciplining; you clean those shards up in five minutes without complaining, or you will be sleeping outside tonight. Is that clear?”

He nods, fear engulfing his heart and setting it on fire. Teikoku leers closer to him.

“ _ Sore wa kira desu ka _ ?” he asks, his tone a little more forceful this time.

He nods, before saying — between trembles — “ _ H-hai _ .”

His older brother seems rather content with this, as he spins on his heel and storms out of the kitchen, leaving Koku with his problem.)

He can still feel those shards pricking his fingers like they were sewing needles.

He opens his eyes once again towards Mother Nature; he looks at the sun, setting just below the horizon, stars already becoming visible against the transitioning sky— from dusk to night. It was — admittedly — beautiful to him, but because of the current circumstances it seems that those constellations were laughing at him. He then looks down— and sees Tokyo’s corpse.

He closes his eyes again, trying to get rid of the splatter of blood around Tokyo’s body; his listless eyes staring into the skies like it is a work of wonder; his arms splayed out and crooked beyond fixing; his legs looking like he had dislocated them on purpose.

Koku has the incentive to jump to his death as well; because Teikoku’s words of advice were “ _ Remember, if something bad happens to another and you are present, then it is your fault and must do the same as they had done _ .” But his insides tell him not to— he was still selfish enough to make him want to live, and he hates that part of him.

He was selfish.

He was unreliable.

He was  _ useless _ , for the most part.

(‘ _ I should’ve let you die along with your mother; two horrible beings down in hell _ ’.)

He bites his lip, trying to remember where he is and stabilise himself, lest he befall the same fate Tokyo did to himself.

(But what’s so wrong with that? He will be  _ free _ .

_ But Teikoku also said that killing yourself means you are a coward and cowards don’t deserve to live _ .)

He takes a few deep breaths, letting go every three seconds, before practising that calming technique Tokyo had taught him when he had caught him in the middle of a ‘ _ panic attack _ ’ as Tokyo calls it.

(Great, thinking about the first time he had calmed him down makes him want to cry even more.)

_ Name five things you can see _ .

It was a mundane way of trying to calm someone down; but he isn’t complaining, as he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes once again — purposefully avoiding looking down — to observe everything in such a majestic view. He can easily pinpoint the grayscale buildings (it doesn’t look  _ that _ ruined in a top view) vanishing from his view, the trees and little shrubs at the park, the setting sun still trying to make itself look glorious against the sky, the darkening skies as Night completes its victory march, and the stars and constellations dotting the entire sky with lacklustre light.

He wants to paint the entire thing— but he, unfortunately, wasn’t gifted the talent to paint very well, unlike Weimar.

(He has seen some of his — unsettling — works before; all talking about death and destruction in such a casual way, each painting signed with a green butterfly staring straight at its audience, while Weimar looks on with a smile.)

_ Name four things you can hear. _

Koku was never really much of a listener; he would listen to few songs and melodies the Deutsche Twins’ great-uncle would recommend to him and end up immediately liking it to the point he would play it on repeat while he writes a few passages and paragraphs, swaying to the beat (he was also a horrible dancer, so the only moves he could possibly know was swaying).

He could hear the sounds of police and fire sirens, its sounds muffled by the wind and how high he was right now; he wonders if he considers the wind as another thing he can hear, as it is also a kind of matter and all matter can be heard, whether people like it or not. Then there are the sounds of firearms being shot, sounding more like the poppers that are released every New Year (he’d shriek at the sound of firecrackers on his ear— his nephews can be irritating at times). He can even hear the sounds of people shouting from up above.

_ Name three things you can feel. _

Koku thinks that wind has a feeling; a feeling of being swayed like the trees or a feeling that a cushion of hair has come to meet him and wants to embrace him in a meaningful way. He now realises he has been digging his nails into his skin, feeling the familiar pinch of pain he’d usually feel when he does that (it was a mechanism to help him keep himself on his toes and stay alert). His feet seem to have been silently aching, and now he is asking himself if stone feels different depending on all types of situations.

(He has no clue why the textures of stone were so important to him— it is usually one of the things that can help calm him down, along with his fears.)

_ Name two things you can smell. _

The smoke has some sort of distinctive smell— perhaps it’s one of the reasons why people would dare say it was noxious and repulsive to their noses; smoke can be both bad and good, but all in all it will always find ways to invade the lungs of each and every person. He also believes that wind carries all smells related to mankind; and that the spirits were kind enough to filter as much unhealthy and unpleasant odors as possible.

_ Name one thing you can taste _ .

Emotions are something many people claim have tastes— happiness has a sweet flavour, sadness has a salty flavour (as salty as the tears that he had ended up tasting one too many times), anger has a spicy flavour, while fear leaves a bitter flavour in his mouth. Now, looking back down at the corpse of his brother (he just can’t take his eyes off of him), he can feel sadness and fear flooding and frothing in his mouth, trying in vain to see who can become the most dominant of it all, before both claim the price.

His heartbeat resumes to its normal beat, calm and understanding, while his lungs started receiving the air he had struggled to breathe in just a few seconds; he relaxes his muscles for a while, before letting go of a deep breath, before running back inside, dialling the Deutsche Towers number; knowing that Teikoku will always be in that damn place.

* * *

America still couldn’t contain the shock, even after calling her brothers to investigate the planting of the bomb; her lips had touched Koku’s once again, but this time he was not in a drunken haze — nor defending her honour — but this time it was tender, warm, and  _ real _ . She didn’t think the entire kiss was bad, disregarding the situation for the time being just so she can have him kiss her again and again.

And she wanted more of it; but she’s not sure — and afraid — of getting another one, especially when Koku came back to her and Palau all grim-faced, and without Tokyo. When Palau asked about him (she must still be salty from her own uncle tying her up to her doom) Koku’s face breaks into one of sadness, before breaking down in front of them, choking and hiccuping.

America had calmed Koku down, but one selfish and repulsive thought ran around her mind— what if he was going to kiss her?

Which didn’t happen, of course— and he went on to continue ignoring her for the next hour, especially when her brothers arrived to extract that damn bomb and question the family members and their staff (despite both Australia and New Zealand knowing who put the bomb in the first place, but they insist it’s for ‘ _ precautionary _ ’ measures), with America being the last to be questioned (obviously).

Before her questioning — and additionally, Koku’s — she and Koku were both standing in the corner, their eyes lingering before breaking away, like they were nothing but strangers who seem to have caught each other’s eyes and interests. Her and his hands were touching, but they do not have the courage to hold hands or expand on it more, especially when Teikoku and Hokkaido — who was carrying Okinawa — came home, who were all wearing extremely shocked faces, particularly Teikoku (but she suspects he was faking it).

Before she is summoned into the interrogation room, she looks at Koku one last time— and hurt that he did not reciprocate his glances, staring emptily ahead, even glancing at his older brother with fear evident in his eyes. Mustering up her courage to look indifferent, despite the turmoil and conflicting feelings she feels inside (she will have to deal with them later), she enters the room.

As she sits on the wooden stool her brothers had luxuriously provided for those they had interrogated, she finally remembers the situation at hand; especially when New Zealand rattles on about the damage the mobs had cost (which was in an estimated millions, it seems), with America getting disgruntled at the fact that most — but not all — of the station’s walls seem to have been demolished thanks to them.

“God, that’s going to take  _ months _ to rebuild”, she groans as New Zealand finishes up with the people they’ve arrested (a few rioters, some in peace and others by force, judging by her younger brother’s black eye). “And we don’t even have enough money for it.”

Australia looks positively anxious, “Actually, Weimar donated money to the station just this night.”

She perks up, already interested, as the three of them know that that bastard was behind all this— he was only donating such huge sums of money for them so that they wouldn’t think of arresting or putting him on the suspects’ list. “He’s probably doing this so that we wouldn’t get suspicious; especially our officers.”

Aussie shrugs, sighing a little, “Well, what can we do? We have no choice but to accept his offer, since it’d be considered rude otherwise.”

“And, no one really knows about what Weimar is  _ really _ doing— even us”, Kiwi replies, putting a hand on his forehead. “We only know that  _ bastard _ —” he looks around, suddenly cautious, as if a butterfly would appear out of nowhere (which isn’t exactly  _ impossible _ ), before continuing, “is spying on us with those stupid butterflies, but we don’t have any concrete evidence to arrest him. I mean, what are we gonna say? ‘ _ Hey UN, NATO, Weimar is spying on us with his butterflies _ !’ They  _ aren’t _ gonna believe us on that.”

America sighs, positively livid, all traces of her skipping happily — and dreaming of Koku — flushing down the drain as she looks back at the situation at hand. “I guess we’ll have to use Weimar’s donation to build the entire damn thing. Do we even have  _ enough _ builders for this?”

“I called UN this night as well”, Aussie answers, “they said they’ll do anything they can to help us— and also reprimanded us for the civilian thing.”

She stares at her brothers, “What ‘ _ civilian thing _ ’?”

Kiwi and Aussie exchange glances, looking sheepish— which wasn’t rare for Aussie, as he usually does this face whenever he did something stupid (such as putting ants in her hair when he thought it was funny), but Kiwi only ever does sheepish looks when he was in a really dire situation.

“We accidentally opened fire?” Aussie replies in a squeak.

America does  _ not _ look amused. “You caused even  _ more _ panic to the civilians by firing at them. Way to go.” She pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing.

“Sorry”, they both say at the same time, making her even more irritated.

She sighs, “Whatever, at least they won’t go running around where they aren’t supposed to.”

Aussie perks up, “Also, were you the one who stopped the bomb from going  _ boom _ ?”

“ _ Obviously _ ”, she deadpans, rolling her eyes. “Taking the interrogation seriously?”

He smiles, then chuckles, “Maybe.” Then his face turns serious again. “What’s going on between you and Koku?”

Her eyes widen a little, her heart beats increasing, but she tries to look casual. “W-what about us?” She hopes they won’t hear her little stutter at the start.

Kiwi shrugs, “I don’t know about you, but Koku keeps giving you glances with that  _ look _ on his face— like the way Aussie looks at Villers.” Aussie elbows him and he rolls his eyes. “Especially when he was talking about you; he sounds love struck.”

Aussie cuts in, “He was like, ‘ _ Oh America? She helped me check in to reality and also saved us from certain doom. She’s my hero and I really love her _ ’ or something like that.”

_ At least he didn’t say anything about us kissing _ , she thinks, trying to keep herself from going red and trying to keep her casual face from breaking phase, before saying, “Oh yeah, he was undoubtedly smitten with me.”

(She’s not  _ wholly _ lying— she just only realised he was smitten with her; and now she was wondering if the feelings were the same or if it were the work of her hormones.)

Kiwi frowns, “Has he ever done something to you?”

She blinks, “What do you mean?”

“You know”, Kiwi raises his hands to exaggerate his point, “touching you the wrong way? Has he ever done that?”

Her memories blur into one— the only times they’d touch was during rainy days or casual hand holding; it never went further than that. Staring into her memories with Koku made her warm inside, but she’s not sure why. “No, I don’t think so.”

“But let us know if he does, okay?” Aussie says, “he’s literally Teikoku’s brother; who knows how many similarities they have.”

Her eyes flare up in anger, standing, “He’s  _ nothing _ like Teikoku!”

Her younger brother raises his hands up, “Woah Meri, we were just stating the facts—”

“You don’t KNOW HIM!” she interrupts, her voice rising in anger; she didn’t know why she was so angry and  _ appalled _ at the fact that he had compared Koku to Teikoku— if she were in his place she’d be mocking the Nippon Family from head-to-toe. “You DON’T KNOW HIM _LIKE I DO_!”

“Okay Meri, chill”, Kiwi says, reaching a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. “We’re sorry for that. We’re just really worried he might do something to you.”

“I can defend my fucking self”, she replies, twitching in anger. “I don’t need you two assholes to protect me.”

Aussie looks visibly hurt; he was usually the one who lets his emotions get the best of him, so he would usually act on impulse and act before thinking. “I’m sorry for saying that; but please just let us—”

Their sister flips over their table, before leaving the room in a rage; not aware that a pair of grey eyes were silently — and pleadingly — following her as she walks outside.

* * *

The cold night air does  _ nothing _ to help with her confusing and exhausting emotions— she usually goes outside to get some fresh air, but now such air has turned polluted thanks to the rioting and destruction that happened tonight. The fresh breeze she usually feels sink into her flesh and play with her hair was replaced by a distant yet warm breeze, making her feel more and more overwhelmed as she walks away from the Nippon house.

She knows the way back home, but she doesn’t want to come back home, even if her heart aches for her worried kids— besides, she can’t just exhaust herself even more with these confusing feelings and caring for children, despite Villers’ help.

She wants to get drunk— but she doesn’t think she has her wallet on her, and she knows she only drinks when the situation is too awry.

(And she had a strong revulsion for drinking after she woke up bare in her own room; her clothes torn and her now carrying a child she didn't want.)

She stares at the streets; once brimming with night life now dead and abandoned, as if a day’s worth of destruction was enough to affect life in the city (which it was). It was as if nothing will ever be the same anymore, looking at the shattered windows of each house and upturned poles or even dead mice and cats and dogs.

She doesn’t even know  _ where _ she was going; all she wants is to stay away from these stupid and confusing feelings, but in the end her thoughts about this entire situation got the best of her, and now she was thinking about the kiss Koku gave her today.

She didn’t understand how his tender touch and lips would be enough to make her change her opinion of him— perhaps he was just doing this to get what he wants; but he doesn’t seem like the person to even  _ know _ the definition of hard-to-get, nor even play such a ludicrous game men keep playing on her her entire life. He was rather oblivious about certain things (such as asking her what a ‘date’ was and why Teikoku keeps calling her ‘bad’ names), lacks the certainty to do anything (he seems positively conflicted when handing her a drink), and even obeys every single order given to him, especially by Teikoku (he has a look of fear in his eyes every time he talks to his brother); which suggests his behaviour must be linked to how Teikoku had treated him.

Judging from his behaviour and reactions to certain things (such as trembling and putting on a faux smile when Teikoku approaches; flinching at loud sounds; or even asking for permission if he can sit on his  _ own _ chair and bed) Teikoku must have inflicted a number on him— something that had been rooted into his mind, like a system of eternal uncertainty and fear.

(One time he accidentally tripped on her shoe; he had yelped and landed face flat before the flower beds.

He immediately gets up and — rapidly — brushes the particles of soil out from his pants. He immediately looks at her, his expression full of fear. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She’s confused; why would he apologise for getting hurt right in front of her?

He looks confused for a moment, “‘It’s fine’? But I tripped in front of you!”

She shakes her head, “It’s okay, you didn’t mean it; it was just an accident.”

“‘Accident’?” he asks— he spells the word out carefully and slowly, like a baby learning a word for the first time. “Teikoku told me nothing is ever an accident, and accidents are just a fancy way to tell someone it’s your fault.”

Now her confusion triples, “No Koku, it was just an accident— it wasn’t your fault; unless it’s my shoes you were talking about.” She awkwardly laughs at her joke as to tell him that this was fine.

“An accident isn’t my fault?” he asks, in a way that a child would.

She nods, “Of course! I don’t know what bullshit Teikoku is telling you, but it’s all a lie!”

He seems less likely to believe such a thing, however; he nods hesitantly. “Alright.”)

Now she realises why; and that Teikoku was even more of a bastard than he really is. Great— she really wants to get his family members away from Teikoku before he could do some serious consequences.

Which he already has, judging from the behaviour she’s observed from Koku, Palau, and perhaps even Tokyo.

She really  _ needs _ to isolate them from Teikoku, especially with how unbelievably toxic he was being to all his family members, to the point one has even killed himself to escape from that man.

Now she feels as if the Nippon Family was rather deeper and more disturbing than she had expected; she thought that the entire family was a one-dimensional, seemingly acting like a happy family while behind doors they revel in the crimes they commit— but they don’t, and they are stuck in the blissful and fearful ignorant world Teikoku had created for his own family, to see himself as a God.

(They were just like her family— a little too loud and imperfect, but they all love each other. Except for the whole loving each other part; she thinks that Britain is the worst father all of them could ever have.)

Her mind comes back to Koku once again; how he was almost always hesitant when doing something, always getting defensive whenever she brings up the idea that Teikoku is logically bad; and becoming apologetic at simple accidents, such as tripping on himself or unintentionally scaring her (since sometimes he was as quiet as the winds were and she would be so engrossed at what she was doing that when Koku speaks up it like she hit play on a loud and obnoxious music video— not that Koku was loud and obnoxious).

Then her mind comes back to the damn kiss they shared; why is her work of thought always coming back to that moment? She supposes that she really  _ loved _ the kiss to the point of wanting more of it (he was gentle, comparable to the flowers she has smelled) but now that she keeps thinking about it, perhaps he had done it in the heat of the moment (even though there was an amount of hesitance in his eyes before he lifted her chin up and leaned forward).

America can’t possibly think of dating him — but she  _ is _ thinking about it — since he was a part of her work and she can’t get distracted; especially when Teikoku — and Weimar — has become an even bigger threat to the city’s welfare. She can’t get distracted, because that would mean she will become reckless and careless.

But he does make her happy— even for a little while.

And there are few things that make her happy.

* * *

“P-please, s-stop—” The woman pleads in pain and fear before she is cut off by another wet thrust, gasping in pain while the other groans, “I-I n-need t-to see my boys—”

She chokes as her windpipes are once again crushed by the brute force of her assaulter; her assaulter for ten years, who has always made her feel the need to suffer and writhe in agony. After a few more seconds of strangling and shaking her, with the woman clawing at her throat at begging for mercy despite her hazy and drugged state, he lets go, heaving breaths as if he had the night of his life.

Which he did— for the price of her happiness and pleasure.

He gets off her, bringing his weight with him but not the soreness and aching of her body. He turns to look towards her, his face stony.

“How would you feel if we marry?”

She looks up at her beloved (or was it  _ him _ again? She cannot tell anymore, she must have gone mad from all those dreams and drugs she had been forced to ingest), confusion dancing in her eyes. “I thought we were already married, Jeguk."

The woman feels another familiar sting on her face, and her beloved already close to shouting at her for her incompetence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also due to recent events, since this story revolves around... cops, i'm gonna try and make them morally ambiguous; like they're not that good but not bad either ^^
> 
> Note: the way Teikoku talks about breaking glass, the concept of accidents and suicide, and also the way he treats his kids and brothers are based off of my momma in real life.


	18. We're Going Down, Down, In An Earlier Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warnings: physical and emotional abuse, gaslighting, mentions of rape and pedophilia**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is like, late and stuff, but things have been hectic for me irl  
> also i edited this twice so i'm sorry for any more mistakes  
> this is 11.6k hhhhhh

Koku doesn’t really know what to think of the awkward air between him and America— he doesn't even know  _ why _ things are awkward between them. A single kiss (which is a declaration of love as well, he supposes) and the playful, warm and jubilant air around them has turned to a rather awkward and tense air, the both of them ultimately wanting to move forward but stuck in cold water because of a kiss.

But the kiss was — admittedly — the best thing he has ever had, his emotions inside of him exploding in colourful waves and creating another multi-colour world (the last multi-colour world his mind had made for him was after his mother gave him a sketchbook as a present), recreating the image of him and America kissing lightly.

He feels rather guilty of the fact that he is elated with the kiss he and America shared (her body was quite warm, and her eyes were shining at him, pleading with him to the point he couldn’t take her stares anymore and just did what his heart desired), until it is deflated with the reminder that his brother is dead — at  _ his _ hands, nonetheless — and that he will have to confront Teikoku about it during breakfast.

His eyes widen, back straightening before looking at the clock; after the authorities left their house alone (while searching for ‘ _ a few loose ends _ ’, much to his confusion) he had avoided his nephews and niece — who was looking at him strangely after he had kissed his bodyguard yesterday — and his brother through the night; he is sure that Teikoku will punish him for such disrespect today.

(“ _ You can’t just lock yourself up in your room along with your grief, Koku; that’s ultimately a sign of derision since the others are also in mourning, you contempt and awful child. _ ” Those words echo in his head and he can’t do anything to stop it because they — and by extension, his brother — were right about him.)

He can already feel himself shaking at the concept of confronting Teikoku— his red eyes glaring into his soul, reading his heart and soul and already knowing his verdict, his face already wearing that cold and hard glare that he had known since childhood and is absolutely terrified about, his hands twitching every time Koku reasons himself out (he flinches and his voice falters whenever his brother would do that), and his lips pressed into a thin line, waiting for the right moment to intrude on his reasoning, giving him a verbal smack down, before asking him — sweetly — if he dares continue (which he doesn’t, seeing that his confidence has shattered).

He takes a deep breath — holding it in for three, out for three — trying to relax and calm his beating heart, feeling his body giving in again after a multitude of times. He has to do this every time he is confronted with Teikoku — which used to worry Tokyo, for some odd reason — to the point it has become a strict routine before he leaves the relief of his room.

(“You’re scared of Teikoku”, Tokyo had told him before. He looked up from the book he was reading, confused.

“I’m not scared of our brother”, he replied, turning his book to another page, trying not to feel alarmed— but his shaking hands had already betrayed that. “I can’t love and fear someone at the same time!” Then his face morphs into confusion, “But Teikoku also told me that love can’t coexist with fear; so that means I love him… but I also fear him…” He stares at Tokyo again, a mixture of emotions set in his eyes; all of a sudden he gasps and his grey eyes go wide. “I don’t want to fear him— he’s my brother— but he also scares and unsettles me and…” He drops his book, his heart beating faster and his breath halting; Tokyo immediately comes to him.)

Turns out he is afraid of his brother, but he loves him, he really does; he is not going to let his body make his own decisions like this. No matter what Tokyo’s voice — which was now ingrained in his mind forever — says, he will have to follow Teikoku and only him; because he is the entire reason he is still alive, thanks to the tireless and relentless work of his.

Who cares if he flinches whenever he speaks? Who cares if he shakes whenever Teikoku’s voice turns higher or lower than his usual monotone voice? Who cares if all of the wounds that his brother had inflicted on him actually hurt?

Because he sure as hell doesn’t.

He takes another deep breath before getting up from his chair, already grimacing at the thought of seeing both Teikoku’s sweet but sullen smile and America (because the both of them haven’t interacted, especially after she had stormed out from the interrogation room angrily last night).

As he makes his way down the stairs, his already somber mood is amplified by the curtains sealed shut, which emits a dark aesthetic around the hallways and makes the nerves of his skin rise as he passes them, already knowing the scene that he was about to greet once he opens the door to the living room (he would have walked into the dining hall or kitchen but he’s not considerably hungry right now).

When he opens the doors, he is not surprised to already find a casket at the centre of the room, with candles lit on top of the coffin; it was open — like Manchukuo — while the entire family turns their head towards the sound of the door opening. It was embarrassing for the most part.

Teikoku stands from his seat, staring at Koku coldly, before giving him a small smile (that made Koku’s body temperature submerge down to a freezing point), “You’re late.”

Koku’s heart skips a beat, his hands shaking underneath his brother’s glare, before looking at the clock to check the time, “I-It’s seven in the morning.”

“We started at six— and we all know how I  _ dislike  _ tardy people.” He spits at the word ‘ _ dislike _ ’, his cold smile vanishing for a moment before plastering itself back to his face after glaring at his younger half-brother; this must mean he disliked — or at worse,  _ hate _ him now — Koku, all because of him attending said funeral late.

He ignores the shaking of his legs, “I-I’m sorry; I’m still just so devastated about Tokyo and—”

“ _ Taiyō _ .” He freezes at the name; Teikoku only calls him that whenever he has angered him enough. It used to be a term of endearment and care from his mother, but now it has turned to a nickname of fear and sorrow for him. His brother makes his way towards him; they don’t really have much difference in height (which is also another reason why people seemed to mistake them for each other) but he can feel him towering over him, like a shadow looming over its own master.

“You’re disregarding our feelings, you know that?” The man in front of him seethes, before taking a hold of his wrist— his breathing quickens and his shaking reaches a new level of intensity, almost rivalling that of an earthquake. He absolutely  _ hates _ being touched, but since it’s Teikoku touching him it adds onto another layer of fear.

He dares to look at his brother, “I-I’m not b-being insensitive, I’m just s-still upset about h-his death—”

“Just because you  _ watched  _ him die doesn’t mean you’re special from all of us!” his brother growls, “you’re disrespecting me  _ and _ your brother, just by standing here and acting like nothing’s wrong.”

Koku shakes his head, feeling tears rising, “B-But I don’t feel special watching him die; I don’t even feel like I was disrespecting him either—”

Teikoku raises an eyebrow at him, tilting his head the opposite direction whilst still gripping his wrist, “I heard you say that you deem yourself ‘ _ special _ ’ just by seeing his death.”

His mind stops offering words to defend himself; like the waves of panic and sorrow had gone strangely still inside of him, once he’s heard those words. He blinks once, twice, thrice— but he does not recall even talking to Teikoku yesterday. He processes these words inside his head; was it possible that he had talked to his family before he shut himself in his room? His mind brings nothing, no memory — or a quote otherwise — of it happening surfaced.

But if Teikoku seemed to know something he doesn’t, then how could he just  _ forget everything _ that has transpired yesterday? Was he really that forgetful?

“I did?” he asks the same way a child would ask once he is faced with a punishment.

His older brother shrugs, “You clearly forgot? Why are you so forgetful?”

Koku’s face morphs to one of confusion; Teikoku has always praised him for being able to remember the tiniest of details. “B-but I would never forget something like that had occurred yesterday—” His — weak — reasoning is cut off by pain exploding on his face. He hears a large smack echo across the living room. He had been hit; he knows from the — familiar — stinging pain he feels on his own skin.

The pain it inflicts was comparable to those wounds he had unintentionally earned as a child, but such wounds today were caused deliberately by a hand which is owned by someone else; someone with a mind, unlike those concrete and hardened roads that were made for innovation and the concept of modernising. He slowly and gently places a hand over the mark, feeling its misunderstood warmth while ignoring the searing pain. He was already familiar with it, no need to make a scene.

“Don’t talk back to me,  _ taiyō _ ”, Teikoku growls, his face hardened back into a glare. Koku already has a general idea of what he was about to say. “I gave you a home, a life, and a huge allowance! And this is how you repay me?  _ DISRESPECT? _ !” He shouts the word and everyone trembles; he rarely gets angry, but when he does the entire world turns upside down.

He lets go of Koku’s wrist (the latter was shaking so hard he doesn’t realise it), before standing back, letting Koku shake intensely, his head bowed down, his teeth still chattering and his nails digging into his skin. Tears blur his eyes, but he doesn’t release them, knowing he has embarrassed himself enough in front of his family.

He can feel bubbles of shame rise; how could he let his younger relatives show that he was weak? (‘ _ Don’t let the others know you’re weak; they’re less prone to respecting you _ .’) How could he just walk into the middle of a funeral feeling special? (‘ _ You are  _ _ nothing _ _. You don’t matter as long as you managed to create something that impacts everyone; which you haven’t _ .’) How could he disrespect his brother? (‘ _ Do not argue or speak back at me, Koku _ —  _ I am your elder brother, and I will always know better than you. _ ’)

_ He’s right; I’m nothing but a horrible person _ , he thinks while shaking, wiping a few tears that were already sliding down his cheeks. He repeats that sentence again— because Teikoku knows who he is by now (even he himself doesn’t know his own self, and it makes him feel ashamed) and that he needs to try and stop being a bad, a selfish, a horrible person, but every time he tries being a good one he ends up back into Square One once he snaps at his family members.

(‘ _ You didn’t snap at Teikoku, you were trying to reason with him. _ ’

_ ‘I snapped at Teikoku, he told me so, and I don’t know anything _ .’)

Then a hand touches his shoulders softly— he freezes, like he had reached the frosty and cold regions of the antarctic and is left there for his body to be turned to ice. He doesn’t dare look up, and only hides himself inside of his mind more. His heartbeat and breathing quickens, because he has to look up because not looking up is meant to be bad and rude and that’s what horrible people do—

_ Don’tlookupdon’tlookupdon’tlookupdon’tlookupdon’tlookup _ —

“Koku”, Teikoku preens gently and softly, the eye of a huge storm that has just transpired. His voice was sweet like sugar, his tone pleasant and warm. His hands cup Koku’s cheeks (that comes into contact with the new bruise forming— he flinches but tries to stay calm), bringing them up so the grey clouds could meet with crimson red massacre. Koku blinks at him, trying to contain the massive fear clawing in his throat and blood and veins and mind and everywhere else. His brother breaks eye contact with him — much to his relief — and envelops him in an embrace. “I am so sorry I hit you, Koku. Tokyo’s death has hit me hard, you know? You were involved in his murder; seeing you here made my blood boil, so I had every right to hit you.”

While he finds it reasonable and sincere, the young man is still afraid of him, that much is true when he tries speaking. The fear inside him has made him lose the courage to speak temporarily, so he nods into his brother’s embrace, feeling numb on the inside. He could smell his brother’s cologne; sweet-scented and fragrant, that even his fear collapses at the scent of the perfume. It smelled like freedom that was in between far and near.

He accepts his brother’s apology of course— after all, he didn’t mean to do it on purpose, and he apologised as well! So no harm done, right?

Except he’s still scared of him; he wants him to stop embracing him, is heart panicking and his mind blanking.

( _ Ungrateful _ .)

Teikoku breaks the hug — thank the gods — before smiling at him (he tries to smile back too but all he can do is give him a wavering one in return).

“Do you want to go to the Town Square with me?” he asks, his voice genuine and eyes shining. “I know it’s been ruined by the relentless attacking yesterday, but I assume it would calm and ease your mind.”

Despite the words of ‘calm’ and ‘ease’ being used in the same sentence, Koku doesn’t feel excited, especially that he, by proxy, is being accompanied by Teikoku. But he takes it, because he promises himself that he is not an unthankful child to the person who has brought him solace in his life.

* * *

America feels like the Nippon House was quiet— too quiet. Much to her surprise — and disappointment — Koku was not waiting for her at the front of the door, with his ever-contagious smile (she smiles whenever she sees him do the same, it had embarrassed her a number of times before). She furrows her brow as she walks inside the doors. Was Koku really that driven by their kiss? Perhaps he was; she won’t blame him since he was rather good — he had difficulty with trying to relax during the whole thing — for a first-time kisser.

She makes her way through the halls; guess she will have to look for Koku before making her way down Teikoku’s office once again. She navigates along the winding hallways, grunting to herself whenever she comes to a dead end, still frustrated that she wasn’t used to these hallways yet.

(She is then reminded of the limitless halls she and her brothers had explored since they were kids as a game; she had managed to find old jewelry from the basements, dusty old books in a hidden library, and even managed to find her birth certificate— however before she opened such a precious document, her father managed to take away the secret he had kept to himself for forever before proceeding to lock her in her room without dinner.)

Her eyes light up when she sees the familiar crest of a sun on the grey door (she had ridiculed Koku for putting a sticker in his bedroom door, but now she feels like thanking him). Preparing herself for a rather awkward conversation (perhaps something like ‘How are you’ and ‘How’s the weather’ while they’re both screaming inside), she knocks on the door thrice, only to receive no response. How strange.

She frowns and knocks once again, before saying, “Koku? Yeah it’s your bodyguard; I know we’re kinda not talking ‘cause of what happened yesterday — I wish we could forget that — but could you give me a sign you’re there? If not then I’ll assume you’ve been abducted by geese and I  _ will _ kick this door down.”

Still no response.

America sighs, turning the doorknob before opening it to what seems like an empty room; it was still cluttered with his clothes, the smell of cherry blossom perfume was fresh and recent (she had also teased him about that) and the curtains are drawn shut to emit a dark surrounding like the other hallways she had once face.

_ Huh, guess he doesn’t wanna hang out with me _ —  _ or maybe he’s still depressed about Tokyo _ , she mentally adds that last part.

She couldn’t help but feel dismayed at the fact Koku left without her— she knows that he’s still reeling from his own brother’s death, but knowing him (despite only knowing each other after a month or so) he would’ve come forward first and told her where he was going and asking if she wanted to go with him too.

(Koku asks her for permission for a lot of things— some normal, others borderline ridiculous and off-putting, such as asking if he could sit beside her or asking if they can start a conversation, like he was so unsure of himself to the point it was immeasurable. She used to think it was cute but when come face-to-face with Teikoku she now realises that maybe, just maybe, his behaviour had been influenced and taken from the way his older brother treats him.)

“He’s with Teikoku.” A small voice makes the woman jump a little, before she turns and finds Palau behind the end of the hallways, wearing a small dress while munching on chocolate, her golden eyes piercing her.

“Palau!” she says, smiling a little while relieved. “You scared me.”

The girl’s neutral — but with hints of shyness — face morphs into guilt as she emerges from the hall, “O-Oh… I did? I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s fine”, America says, feeling sheepish for making the little girl (she is aware that she’s fifteen, she just looks so skinny and frail she might break) feel culpable, approaching her and patting her on the shoulder. Palau flinches at it before relaxing, like she reminded herself that it was someone else touching her. “How are you? Are you okay?”

The girl plays with the frills of her dress, averting her gaze. “I’m fine— thank you for saving me from that bomb; I thought I would’ve died.”

America was relieved, especially when she hadn’t said anything about the kiss Koku gave her yesterday. She smiles sweetly, “No problem; it’s all in a day’s work. Anyway, did you say that Koku was with Koku today?”

The dark-haired girl nods meekly, “Yeah— they drove to the City Square just a while ago after Uncle Koku got lectured by  _ Otosan _ in the living room.”

The other tilts her head, “Lectured’?”

Palau brings her hands up like she’s trying to exaggerate a topic, “Ya know— Papa said he was being very contemptuous with the funeral because Koku thought he deemed himself as special ‘cause he got to see Tokyo die. But to be honest, I won’t feel special if I get to witness someone die. Anyway Papa hits Uncle, humiliated him in front of us before proceeding to apologise and make up with his brother.”

America blinks, “Teikoku  _ hit _ his brother?!” She can finally understand Koku’s behavior now, judging from the way Palau had phrased the entire scene— he (and by extension, Tokyo, Palau, Hokkaido and Okinawa) are being abused physically, mentally and emotionally, manipulated and gaslighted on. This thought gave her a strong maternal sense, especially when she looks at the girl in front of her, so skinny and delicate.

The younger flinches a little after she had shouted before calming down, “Yeah, but it’s okay Miss, my papa apologised to him.” She pauses then decides to add as an afterthought, “He apologises to all of us whenever he accidentally hits us.”

America shakes her head, becoming ever the more horrified with their situation and wanting to help them escape from their father. “Those were no accidents, dear. He does them on purpose.” She didn’t know where the nickname had come from, but she thinks that Palau — and the rest — need those as well.

She tilts her head, her face unreadable but her eyes seem to be denying her allegations. “Okay.”

(She  _ does _ hope that Palau would believe her plight— but since she is still under the direct control of Teikoku, it will be a long while until she can get rid of her ‘sense of service’.)

America frowns a little, especially at Palau’s evident twitching, before her eyes light up at the prospect of Teikoku not being in his own office; perhaps she will find more sources and secrets undisturbed now that he was not here.

She looks around for a moment, searching for cameras that litter the hallway (which has become quite the norm for her), before facing Palau once again, whose eyes were staring down at the floors, her face downcast and her lips pulled into a thin line. Her face softens a bit at such a look— a desolate rainfall after the clouds had blocked the sunlight’s rays.

“What’s wrong?” she asks the younger girl, concern lacing her voice; she puts a hand on her shoulder— not too soft so that she won’t feel the contact, but not too hard either to elicit a negative reaction.

Palau inches away a little from the touch, but not too much that it wouldn’t be obvious to those who see it in insensitive lenses. She averts her gaze a few more times, her face and brows furrowing. “N-Nothing.” She decides to ignore that little stutter for a favour.

“Can you take me to Teikoku’s office?” she asks, trying to contain her excitement— finally, her nightmare would be over and she could return home with her victory! Her heart doesn’t seem to rejoice at what her mind is currently thinking of; a plan that will finally end her — seemingly long-term but it was actually a pretty short-term shift — suffering after a month (which feels like she had been ‘serving’ them after a year or so), while her heart is still conflicted with her feelings regarding Koku.

The younger girl looks at her with evident and obvious panic in her eyes (she regrets her statement after she looks at her with that face), “W-Why are you asking?” She shifts on her place, clearly tense and afraid just from a mere mention of her father.

America runs a hand over her hair, a little tense about asking someone as fragile as her, but she has to. “Teikoku told me he left something there, but I don’t know the way to his office.”

The young girl perks up at her request, her dull eyes regaining light. “I can help you!” Her tone was excited, not like the dejected energy she had displayed just a minute ago— like she had finally found the meaning of her life.

(Which is a rather concerning behavior, in America’s opinion, but she won’t comment on it yet.)

She smiles at the girl’s enthusiasm (but just hiding her concern and worry for her). “Can you show me the way?”

“Yes I can!” she practically jumps up and down at the concept of helping someone for their own needs; she feels guiltier when Palau gives her a small — but delightful — smile. Palau links her arm with hers, still wearing a huge smile that makes America’s heart melt at the sight of it.

While walking, she observes Palau trekking with a small skip every now and then; which she had not observed until now. She assumes that the girl skips when something excites her (she doesn’t know what’s so exciting to take someone towards their father’s — who subconsciously frightens her — office), and she’s trying her best to keep a neutral expression on her face, while smiling at the girl’s excited face with her eyes.

She stops in front of a familiar dark door, her eyes staring emptily at the door with her face wearing something akin to fear, no proof of the excited girl that had escorted her.

(America can feel her slightly trembling, but she believes that it was just the motion between them.)

For the sake of Palau, America reaches towards the doorknob and turns it— it doesn’t budge, much to her apparent disappointment and Palau’s uncomfortable shifting.

“Locked.” She didn’t even keep her growl and her frustration (about the whole Teikoku and Weimar ordeal, the interrogation and offense her brothers had told her about Koku last night, and how Koku is — seemingly — avoiding her); Palau had heard her noise of frustration, as she winces a little, before looking around for the source with a face of fear and her lips trembling.

Her face of frustration melts into one of endearment and regret (she reminds herself to soften her tone in front of Palau). “I’m sorry Palau; I should have been more sensible, especially whenever I’m around you.”

Palau looks at her with pleading golden eyes, before her face morphs into a humiliated countenance. She avoids America’s gaze once again, playing with the edges of her dress and trying to contain the blush that is now spreading around her face. “I-I’m sorry… I’m just sensitive and stupid, that’s all.”

America tilts her head, confused; did Teikoku condition  _ everything _ and  _ everyone _ in this house to have such an unhealthy amount of self-deprecation? “I don’t think you’re sensitive, nor stupid.”

Palau puts a hand over her eye, like she’s trying to discreetly wipe tears that were gathering in her eyes. “Papa calls me that because I am, so that means it’s true. Papa never  _ ever _ lies.”

She sighs, looking at the young girl with concern in her face. “Palau, what do you think of your father? Do you love him?”

She hesitates a little at the question, almost as if one single insult — or negative comment — will be enough for Teikoku to manifest out of nowhere and start calling her insults and names to her face, before answering, “Well, my  _ Otosan _ is a very nice man; he gave me many gifts like the aquarium down the basement — which is now closed for investigation — and cared for me a lot, especially when my mother died.” She puts a stray dark hair back into place, “But sometimes… he scares me.”

She raises a brow at this (Palau also didn’t answer if she loved her father, to America’s sharp cognizance), with her feeling interested and sorry for Palau at the same time. “How much does he scare you?”

“Well, he wasn’t scary back when I was a kid… he would teach me a lot of things such as not talking to strangers, read me stories about aquatic life, and even made me an ocean model to show it off to my friends once.” A small smile escapes her lips, a single ray escaping the dark rain clouds. “But then… after I turned ten — and especially when Okinawa was brought home — he became rather strict and unforgiving with me.  _ Otosan _ would force me to attend parties he hosted and forced me to wear revealing and uncomfortable dresses. And then…” She sniffles and shivers, “And then after my new boyfriend drugged me,  _ Otosan _ forced me to marry him! ‘Cause he took away my ‘virginity’ and now I should be married to him… I don’t even know what  _ Otosan _ meant by that!”

America finds it in herself to look repulsed; the girl had only implied what this man had done, but to say that Teikoku hadn’t comforted her nor arrested his  _ daughter’s _ perpetrator makes her blood boil even more. “That’s just  _ wrong _ !”

She must have raised her voice a little higher than usual, since Palau blanches and subconsciously takes a step back.

“Sorry”, she says, lowering her voice back to normal, before continuing with a much gentler voice, “What did you think about the whole ordeal, hm?”

Palau opens her mouth, before closing it, turning her head away and crossing her arms, once again looking despondent. “ _ Otosan _ tells me my opinion doesn’t matter; I lost my virginity so that means I’m a woman now.” She looks down, “I didn’t know being a woman would mean forfeiting my happiness to some guy who did something to me.”

America shakes her head solemnly, “You shouldn’t have grown up that fast— you’re still a kid, a  _ child _ .”

The girl sniffles a little, already feeling the entire world imploding around her, and resorts to hiding herself in her dress (which was rather futile); then America spots a large dark bruise beneath her shoulder that was hidden underneath Palau’s raven dark hair.

“What’s this?” America asks, before stepping closer and putting aside her hair to clearly see the — seemingly fresh — bruise that Palau had been hiding from her. Much to her surprise and horror, the bruise had a dark purple colour (similar to that of a wounded and dying animal) that had spread from the ends of her shoulder up to the base of her neck. Needless to say, America was horrified at the sight; like some kind of dark magic fantasy had gone wrong.

As if instinctively, Palau squirms away from her and pulls her hair down, once again covering the abnormally large bruise— but the damage was done. “N-Nothing to worry about, Miss America.”

Her anger flares like the heat of a thousand suns, her eyes seeing red once she reminds herself the possible suspect on who had done this. “ _ Who did this _ ?” She seethes, making the girl shudder.

She shakes her head, sealing her mouth shut. “ _ Otosan _ did it. But don’t worry, it was just an accident, and he had apologised for hurting me.”

America was about to open her mouth and say, ‘ _ No, that doesn’t mean shit to me, he hurt you _ ’ but they were interrupted by a baby’s cooing and someone walking down the hall. They both turn their heads to the newcomer— well,  _ newcomers _ .

“Palau?” a teenage boy with dark hair and eyes emerges from the corner of the hallways, his face displaying a look of confusion; in his hands was a baby — which looks to be about one or two years old — who was chewing on a toy, drool slipping from his mouth. “What are you doing here?”

His sister seems to be ultimately relieved at the interruption from an ongoing interrogation, before answering, “Oh, I was just showing America to  _ Otosan _ ’s office; she said that  _ Otosan _ had asked her to get something inside here.”

Her brother’s face flits to one of suspicion, once he realises he and his siblings were not alone in the hallway, his eyes resting on America. “Is that so?”

She nods, “But  _ Otosan’s _ office is locked, which is kind of inconveniencing us. Do you know where  _ Otosan _ keeps his keys?”

The young boy stares at America suspiciously, before turning back to his sister. “ _ Otosan _ gave me the key before he left.”

America tries to refrain lifting her eyes up in delight and hope— since Palau beats her to it with a small squeal of delight (she was puzzled at the childish display, but somewhat understands). The young boy asks Palau to carry their baby brother for him to find the key (which the girl took happily; she laughed while her younger brother — his name is Okinawa, if America remembers correctly — was giggling and squishing his chew toy with his mouth), while her older brother digs into his pockets. The older woman was silently praying that he actually  _ has _ the key, wanting this entire thing to be over quickly, and her prayers have been answered once the young boy’s eyes light up with discovery.

“Here.” He gives the key to his sister (of  _ course _ he won’t give a valuable item that could be compared to codes for missile launching to a suspicious profile like America) and takes back Okinawa, with the toddler resting naturally in his arms.

She beams at her brother, like a diamond being unearthed from the dull ground. “Thank you, Hokkaido.”

The boy — Hokkaido — gives a small smile towards Palau, and, before leaving with Okinawa, another strange look at America. After he turns another corner from the hallway, she turns towards Palau, who was examining the — rusted — silver key. When she notices that she was being looked at, she grows abashed and gives the older woman the key.

Her green eyes lock with the fading shine of the silver metal, before inserting it on the — also rusted — door knob; after hearing a small click, America pushes the door open, greeted by the smell of a rather familiar scent (a scent in which she usually smells in a few illegal warehouses she and her brothers had busted— and additionally during her father’s ‘ _ recreational _ ’ activities) and the cold; a much different kind of cold unlike the snowy blizzards or just cool nights— this kind of cold was eternal and cannot be treated.

After she had opened the door, Palau — out of impulse — steps back and huddles behind America, her head peeking out to see what lies on the other side of the unknown. Meanwhile she was not undaunted, and despite invading his personal office a month ago nothing has changed, except for a few papers scattered about.

“Palau, can you do something for me?” America asks Teikoku’s daughter; she knows that the youngster was too scared to even approach her father or tamper with his things, so she has to let her go alone for the time being.

“What can I do?” She uses the word ‘ _ can _ ’ rather than ‘ _ should _ ’.

“Can you stand guard for me while I find the thing Teikoku wants me to get? After this, we can go find your uncle and father in the Town Square.”

That seems to be a good enough gift in return for standing-guard-near-her-father's-office-for-who-knows-how-long for Palau, who smiles at her brightly before giving her a salute, “Okay!”

America smiles at her before going inside and closing the door, faced with the darkness trying to devour her slowly but surely and the cold blistering her skin.

* * *

Mongolia presses the bridge of his nose, annoyed that his smoking break (well, he  _ was _ going to take a smoking break, but when he was about to put his cigarette in his mouth, Inmin decided to drag him away from the relaxing corners of the alley and into what he considers pandemonium) had been interrupted by a homicidal and delusional boy who wants to murder those who wronged him.

(He was rather surprised that yesterday, exactly at this hour, Soviet’s mob went off and caused a great ruckus, but now people were moving on with their lives. He could admire their resilient nature —  _ could _ — but he can’t help roll his eyes at their refusal to stay at home and let the officials settle them out.)

“What are we doing here now?” he asks impatiently, still rather pissed that he dropped a perfectly good cigarette on the ground. “Have you been on your meds?” Which was an inside joke, as Inmin doesn’t take medicine, unless he’s caught with a blazing fever.

“I saw him again!” Inmin exclaims without looking back, his head turning every other way, searching for someone, his pace picking up as he — and by default, Mongolia — dodge a few civilians in their way; of course Inmin doesn’t have any shame as he pushes them away without looking (some even giving the two of them the stink eye, which makes Mongolia die a little on the inside).

He sighs, before drawling sarcastically, “Who did you see again?” He decides to humour him — and himself — for his sake.

Inmin finally looks at him like he’s been punished by Soviet (which he was, unfortunately, and he doesn’t want to talk about it). “Teikoku, obviously!”

Mongolia tries his best not to sigh in exasperation; he shouldn’t have been surprised when the boy said that so naturally. “Ah, where did you find or spot him, then?”

The other boy doesn’t answer— instead his eyes light up and his pace quickens from a fast walk to a slow run, which means he might have found his right target.

(He certainly doubts he found Teikoku hanging about in the midst of all these people; after all, he’d know better than to show his face to millions of people, with a few wanting to murder him. And also because Inmin sees almost every stranger as virtually identical to Teikoku, to the point he and the others don’t really take him seriously anymore.)

Then he stops in front of a bookstore— Mongolia follows his single dark eye glaring at a dark-haired man skimming a book, a faint smile on his lips and a look of intrigue in his eyes. The experienced hitman tilts his head a little; has Inmin  _ finally _ managed to catch Teikoku without exploding at the sight of him?

Then he sees one of Inmin’s arms dig into his belt to extract the gun he had managed to miraculously hide from the guards at the checkpoint (though they glared suspiciously at Mongolia when he was passing by, like he was some sort of criminal; which he was, but he felt scrutinised and judged harder from their gazes). Much to his embarrassment — and dread — Inmin had pulled out a pistol from his pants, its metal glean glinting in the sunlight.

Screams and shouts from near them means that the juvenile’s move did not go unnoticed by a hundred people— of course like yesterday, they immediately start panicking and run this way and that, trying to avoid the gun. Mongolia rolls his eyes by how much they overreact; after a few months joining Soviet’s mob, he had gotten used to bullets being wasted for ‘ _ agility _ ’ tests or loads of people rough housing (which he usually joins).

Due to the people’s shouting and the thudding of their shoes grating and hurting his ears (it was comparable to that of a fork being scratched against a smooth whiteboard; which was what Soviet uses on him back in the days when he tried to steal his cigarettes), he tugs on Inmin’s sleeve to get his attention.

“Inmin, you  _ teneg _ ! We were only supposed to observe what the progress of Weimar’s planning was!” Needless to say, his remark was ignored by a seventeen year-old craving bloodlust and his mother.

Mongolia narrows his eyes at Inmin’s target; the man, despite being mistaken for Teikoku, he doesn’t seem to possess any trait (well, personality-wise, he resembles Teikoku physical-wise) that had made Teikoku up atom-by-atom and bone-from-bone.

But Mongolia  _ does _ recognise him; from the few gatherings that he had — been forced to — attend with Soviet (he usually picks a few of the aspiring kids who really,  _ really _ wanted to go to social gathering events as a way to be shown off), he had seen this man tagging along with Teikoku to social events and dinners ever since last year, after Teikoku had made a confession where he had a younger half-brother, scandal and media hell broke loose.

(Teikoku’s fame had been in flames last year after he confessed he’d been keeping his brother from public’s eye; he had a few reasons, such as ‘boarding schools’, ‘anxiety’ — even if Koku  _ had _ anxiety he’d still be rammed on by media — or bluntly commenting he forgot his own brother had even existed, which caused an uproar in the media about how he was basically neglecting his own brother.

Teikoku had taken these insults to his face with a calm smile — but a bone-chilling smile to those who actually knew him — as he sweeps those insults and ill-willed comments under a rug of his victims’ bones and scars. He was — frighteningly, in Mongolia’s opinion — casual about letting what seems to be a years’ worth of secret out in the open just because he had mistakenly commented about ‘ _ Koku _ ’ in a talk show.

And then, a few months after his big reveal, Teikoku brings — seemingly  _ forced _ — his brother Koku to attend a party at the UN’s yacht; the younger of the two seemed to be more withdrawn and had been displaying a cold reception during the first party; but a  _ different _ kind of frosty reception than what Teikoku had been giving off, so to speak.)

“Inmin, that’s not Teikoku”, Mongolia tells Inmin, tugging at his arm, exasperated. “That’s his brother,  _ Koku _ . It’s a three-word difference, but still not the same person like the one you kept seeing in your nightmares.”

“I don’t  _ care _ ”, he spits at the last word, his remaining eye furrowed in concentration, while his fingers are positioned calmly at the trigger. “He took something from me; it’d be fair if I took something from him as well.”

Mongolia was about to sarcastically remark that he doesn’t think Teikoku cared about his younger brother at all, but he was so busy gritting his teeth and lunging for Inmin to stop creating mass panic. Once his hand reaches Inmin’s mouth (he has… no clue why he would think covering Inmin’s mouth with his hand was able to stop him), a blonde blur swooshes past him.

Before he could even think — or speak — he hears a bullet being released from the gun with a loud  _ BANG _ ! It should have become silent, with his ears now ringing and all, but that just seems to make the agitated and exaggerated noises of the people running past them, all because someone had pulled a gun out in public and had — hypothetically — shot at someone.

“I recognise you— you’re the bitch who blew my face off all those years ago.” He hears from between the incomprehensible and disturbing ringing, like the static on the radios or televisions.

When he finally had the courage to look up, ignoring the blaring static noises; he found Inmin glaring at a young woman — America — his arm holding the gun being held in place by the undercover cop. America’s green eyes had a different and distinct fire than the ones he had seen in her face before; a defiant flame dancing in her eyes.

“Oh yeah, I remember ya”, she replies, not breaking eye contact with the younger man, “you tried planting a bomb in the station; only to have that failed and used against you.”

Mongolia has heard a lot about the failure of the bomb implementation; Soviet had decided to take a fifteen year-old — and recently recruited — Inmin to harbour an impossible task, especially for a new member like him. He got his face and eye blown off, and he’s been mentally unstable since.

“I would have gotten away with it if  _ you _ didn’t have to show up with your need to become a hero”, he growls, harshly breaking his arm away from the woman, still glaring at her with an incomparable intensity (perhaps just with less intensity as Soviet’s glare when he had told him he failed in planting the bomb).

America scoffs, rolling her eyes, “Even a blind baby could see that you were trying to kill everyone in the police station.” Then she stares at him once again, this time with recall and realisation. “Wait, you’re Minguk’s—”

“Don’t mention his name!” Inmin shouts, and Mongolia glances at Inmin and America, confused; did Inmin and Minguk have a history together? He studies Inmin’s features carefully, the first time he had done so in a number of years (ever since he had been recruited into the mob two years ago; he stopped studying his complexion after he lost his eye); Inmin had the same unruly dark hair as Minguk (the former twin frequently uses gel to tame it) and the same dark eyes as he.

He then calls himself an idiot in his head— how come he hadn’t noticed their physical similarities before? Inmin and Minguk seem to be twins; despite the physical differences between the two (such as Minguk’s brightly-coloured — dyed — hair and Inmin’s, well, single eye) they were like sky and water— blue as sapphire, and the deeper or higher someone goes, a new world opens for them.

Maybe he could tell Minguk about Inmin when they meet again— or maybe that might give the other boy an anxiety attack.

(Yesterday had been their second date — Mongolia had reminded himself to use mouthwash — while they had been making out underneath the shade of a tree, someone had tried to shoot at them. Minguk wasn’t used to such a loud noise — unlike Mongolia — so he curled up into a ball after breaking the kiss. Mongolia was mad but since he hadn’t been bringing a gun — who would bring a gun to a date — so he had to coax Minguk out from his ball form to get him to safety.

Imsi was pretty mad that his nephew had returned to him looking sad, but Mongolia, being the bad boyfriend he was, kissed him on the cheek before saying he had to, like, check up on his cousin.)

“Seriously, if you were looking for your mother,  _ don’t _ try getting recruited to a shady-ass mob like it’s some sort of school varsity sport you want to get into!” He seemed to have tuned the entire conversation out like their conversation had been purposefully cut off because a writer had been too lazy to write the entire confrontation.

Inmin growls, his fist clenching, before swinging an arm backwards and forwards; supposedly Mongolia  _ should _ have intercepted his fist before it came to contact with America’s face…  _ but _ she had strangled him just yesterday (can you believe it?) so he has the right to be salty.

Mongolia thought that America was going to get decked for good (not like he wasn’t against it, anyway) a pale hand catches the fist on time, extracting a grunt of surprise and Inmin staggering backwards slightly. A pair of grey eyes stare at Inmin like ice daggers about to be thrown, his face wearing a civil yet distinctively cold glare.

“I suppose I arrived on time?” he asks in a low but piercing voice, his eyes only focused on Inmin.

(Even his voice wasn’t as unsettling nor icy as Teikoku; it was a different but all the same kind of tone with his brother.)

* * *

Meanwhile, somewhere deep into the underground, even deeper than the sewers and canals, Mexico and a few other mob members, such as Albania and Kazakhstan, were preoccupied with checking every nook and cranny, room or door. They do not want to know or learn they are being watched by the butterflies, nor do they want said butterflies to spill their secrets to their master, intent on stirring up another controversy.

“All clear.” Mexico says, wiping sweat that was forming on his brow. The others nod towards their leaders as well, already seated at the table, sitting silently and in-place, not making any noise in fear of being heard by the butterflies. However, they were all looking at each other with suspicion and distrust, which is also another probable reason why they’re not speaking.  _ Yet _ .

Soviet was the first to speak; he stopped drumming his fingers on the wooden table, pushing his chair back slightly before glaring back at them with his golden eyes glinting in the sunlight. He makes a noise at the back of his throat; which was enough to make the other people in the dank room pivot their attention towards him.

“We all know why we’re gathered here today”, he starts in his deep and rumbly voice, “we’re on the run from the police—  _ and UN _ .”

“We’re not afraid of the UN,  _ or _ those useless authorities”, France replies, ridiculing his notion with a smirk. “We’re the reason why they even existed; a few petty crimes here and there to keep Pangea  _ exciting _ .”

“Without us, the Hidden Corners wouldn’t have existed at all”, another mob boss, Italy, responds from the end of the table, seated beside Spain. “ _ Nothing _ would have existed if we hadn't given them the money and the  _ land _ to build what was  _ meant  _ to be impossible.”

“Not only that, but we’re the ones that produce money for their needs and others”, Spain speaks up, her hands in a prayer position.

“So what?” Soviet snaps, his voice sounding annoyed; it was supposed to bring uneasiness to the mobs surrounding him, but they keep their uneasiness discreet and in check, not wanting to seem weak in front of the giant. “We’ve never had a crisis like this before, nor we had ever caused something explosive such as this.”

“The reason why was simple”, Netherlands speaks up, sporting a wound from where Belgium had hit her yesterday (it’s also worth noting her daughter is not in the meeting right now). She immediately points a finger at France, glaring at the woman, “This bitch right here decided to get her son into the underworld; and look what happened!”

The woman in question stands up, glowering at the lady with passion, “Excuse me?! How dare you rope my son into this! He did nothing wrong, don’t blame him for getting Weimar and Teikoku somewhat active in the Underworld as of late! Besides”, she glares at Italy, who averts his gaze, “this one right here wanted to join Teikoku and Weimar.”

Shouts of uproars are heard from the other mob leaders, resulting in Italy shrinking into his seat. “Well,  _ I _ wouldn’t have asked them for help if Spain hadn’t cut off contact with me after infighting happened in her mob!”

Most of the mobs looked particularly  _ interested _ at hearing that detail; however, Spain was not, as she slapped him in the face with a look of pure fury.

“You  _ idiota _ !” she screams in a high voice, “I thought I could trust you— but I shouldn’t have.”

Italy’s face softens a little after the outburst, “ _ España _ , I—”

But his words were already drowned into the endless arguments and sharp-witted insults that the leaders have no trouble coming up with and throwing into the countless faces of the others. Mexico and the others (who were the children of said mobs) only reacted by sending a few tired glances at each other.

“Well, it seems that this meeting had already gone up in flames before I had anything to say about it”, a familiar — but raspy — voice says, making every voice in the room simultaneously fade and turn to the direction of the speaker.

From behind them, France lets out a noise between a gasp and outrage, already identifying the intruder. “How did  _ you _ get in here?”

From the darkness of the room, one can tell that everything the dim light touches was the entirety of the room— the table and the mob leaders, even the dull beige walls that had been abandoned glow in the light’s glow. But there are other kinds of beasts in the dark, such as this one.

Britain steps into the light, as the darkness he was standing and bathing in for who-knows-how-long gives way once the faint gleam of light touches him (had he literally been  _ watching _ them in the darkness since they started?). He smiles while the other leaders exchange stupefied looks (including Soviet). His hands rested upon his cane, he examined all of his former allies and enemies that he had abandoned a decade ago.

Spain breaks the silence with a click of her tongue, “ _ Bretaña _ , always having a flair for dramatic entrances.”

He sends a suggestive wink at her — in which she rolls her eyes — before facing the crowds once again, “It’s been a damn good while, but yes, I’m back.”

France was easily the least accepting of the mobs. “What the  _ hell _ are you doing back here,  _ Bretagne _ ? I thought I had my son drive you out.”

He scoffs, “I wasn’t  _ exiled _ , love; I just broke out of jail and started a new life away from Pangea.” He turns to Spain, “Also, Portugal says  _ olá _ .”

Spain had the decency to look surprised.

“You shouldn’t even be here”, France snarls at him.

“I was — and still is — a mob leader”, he replies with a pointed look towards France. “So I am allowed to stay here for as long as I like.”

France slouches back on her seat— she too had not felt her tense up and prowl forward when Britain had appeared.

“After all these years, you showed up again in the worst possible time”, Soviet muses, putting his fingers together, his expression one of amusement. “I wonder: why did you come back after all these years?”

Britain shrugs as he walks closer, “I heard  _ all _ about what happened yesterday, and I have to say, I’m disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” Netherlands repeats with a snort, “you sound like a father scolding his juvenile children.” She sends a devilish smile in his direction. “Not like your kids were innocent little angels themselves.”

Britain pretends to ignore the insult but his eyes flare. “You’re all adults, so the only jobs that you had to do was to  _ act _ like one. And then you wreak havoc into the city all because some butterflies have been whispering to you? All of you are not fit for leading! The reasons why the UN and NATO let you do as you please is because they believe you can handle getting chased by those amateurs.” He glares at them once again. “But it seems you have the maturity of high school students who took gossip seriously.”

“ _ Please _ , not like you could prevent the shit that happened yesterday”, Italy says.

“But you  _ were _ at fault that it happened, right?” he asks, yawning, “all because of some butterflies.”

“You make us sound like we were cowards!” Czechoslovakia, another one of the mob bosses, speaks up. “At least we were fighting while you’ve been off fucking your boyfriend in the suburbs.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, my dear”, he replies with a small laugh, “I came back because I have the most exciting news.”

Soviet raises a brow, “Which is?”

Britain grins at them, his sapphire blue eyes glinting. “I have a plan to construct the downfall of the ‘Deadly Duo’, as I call them.” The nickname was supposed to release laughs from the overtly tense leaders, but they said nothing; Britain cleared his throat, moving on. “Anyways, I’ve hacked into Teikoku’s files and transferred as much information and data as I can— however, Weimar’s proved to be more difficult, so I only had basis with the oldest files I had of Weimar.”

“What are you trying to imply?” Spain asks.

Britain puts a hand on his forehead, as if the years of running away had finally caught up with him. “Basically, I have the master plan to put them down and gather the much needed evidence.”

“So… you’re basically taking credit of what your daughter is doing right now?” Soviet asks, raising a brow at the older man.

Britain looks at him with a slight unreadable face, “Ah, how did you know?”

Soviet shrugs, “Mongolia told me.”

The older man clicks his tongue, “Ah.”

An odd silence occurs around the room; it was a kind of silence in which no one wanted to fill nor break it. It was not really a comfortable silence, as everyone had been looking at each other with tense and confining expressions, their postures rigid. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence either, like a conversation abruptly ending from a single bump— it was more of no one ever wanting to fill in the silence.

Britain couldn’t really control himself anymore; he cracked a small smile that wasn’t riddled with mischief nor malicious intent— it was more of a clouded smile, a smile where the mind is filled with memories, some good, others… not so much. “Well, I suppose you won’t be needing me anymore.”

“I’m afraid not.” France replies while examining her nails (which were polished hot pink)

He smiles wryly at her, “Apparently Canada tried to murder my daughter— by setting the entire construction in flames then leaving her in there.”

She stares at him pointedly, “He’s your son as well.”

“Yes he is”, he says, “he framed me for something  _ you _ did; that alone makes him my son.” He faces them once again, his dark blue eyes already done remembering ( that before they had been mob leaders wanting power, they had been varsity leaders wanting validation and adoration from their damn parents) what was in the past; it is not the present and it holds no power over them anymore, because this is what they had become.

(Britain certainly doesn’t regret his decisions over the years; some do, but they’re already submerged deep in their misdeeds, so the only way they can go is forward.)

He checks his watch before feigning a look of surprise, “Ah, looks like I’ve caught up with time. Unfortunately, I will have to bid you all farewell; but think of this as the high school reunion party we never got to attend.” Before anyone could respond to his statement, a blinding flash of light erupted from the corner where he was standing on. As the other mob leaders close their eyes in fear of being stunned, Britain vanishes and fuses with the light, like a solar flare already about to cause destruction to the galaxies.

Once the light subsides back into its dim properties, the leaders — and their guards — uncover their eyes, and much to their confusion, their old acquaintance is already gone, like he had joined the properties of light.

However, they were not at all surprised; Spain yawns and France furrows her brow at the place where her old nemesis had vanished.

“He also has a flair for dramatic exits”, Soviet grumbles with a roll of his eyes.

* * *

Back at the Town Square, Inmin and Koku were in a silent standoff; the latter glaring at the former, while still holding his fist firmly in his hand. Mongolia observes them nearby, contemplating if he should intervene or sneak out unnoticed once the guards approach them; meanwhile America was looking at the two intently, waiting for the opportune moment to break them up once they started fighting seriously.

“You do realise carrying a firearm is illegal?” Koku asks, unaware of Inmin’s background.

“So what?” Inmin bites back, “You took my family away from me.”

The other boy tilts his head back, bewilderment visible on his face, “I don’t even know who you are.”

The younger boy laughs; it was hard to tell if it was a sarcastic or mocking laugh, or maybe it was both. Koku lets go of his arm, frowning and stupefied— he didn’t know whether to ask him if he was alright or if he should just ignore the boy. America, meanwhile, had thoughts running in her mind, ranging from Koku to the hard drive (containing all of Teikoku’s data about the names of his prostitutes, employees, mob members and — disturbingly — a blueprint of what was labelled as ‘Doomsday’) in her pocket and to the first time she had met Inmin all those years ago.

Soon enough, Inmin stops laughing, staring at Koku with an indecipherable look (a look that made Koku a little more unsettled), before saying, “Oh, you will. You  _ will _ .” Mongolia takes this response as a way to separate the two, with him saying (in a paternal voice), “ _ Khoid _ , let’s go now,  _ Zӧvlӧlt _ must be waiting… for his  _ belgevch _ to arrive.” Surprisingly, he agrees, but not without shooting another death glare towards Koku, who was too dumbfounded to reply back.

As the two renegades camouflage into the crowd, Koku and America are left alone, despite the dismal surroundings around them. America stares at Koku, hoping this would gain his attention, but he was still rather fixated on the young boy he had a — hostile — conversation with. She tugs on his sleeve to get his attention, and it works, as he whips his head towards her, his face riddled with confusion and questions.

“Do you know him?” he asks her, with a small look of suspicion.

She shrugs; she might as well have to tell him the  _ surface _ of the truth, “I met him, but I don’t consider him as a friend.”

He rolls his eyes, still retaining some of his spunky spirit, “Obviously; he was about to hit you.”

She smiles a little, before slightly pressing her body against his, trying to break the awkwardness between them, which had still been going on even after all these times, but all she got from the man was a nudge, before walking away from her, back to the bookstore without looking back. America glares at him as he walks past her, ignoring the waves of the crowd that was trying to push him back.

The bodyguard already wanted to leave him alone and find Palau (who was also in the bookstore, stuck sitting while reading about aquatic animals in the Antarctic while looking less like a teenage girl and more like an amazed child), she was reminded that Teikoku had hurt him earlier today and maybe he needed emotional support.

(Which she also realised he incredibly lacks; sometimes he would don a blank face, and would only show emotion once it was required to do so. Other times he would overreact due to loud noises or insults or swears, which made America lower her vocabulary from social and active to one more formal and civil. Sometimes he would have late reactions, such as pausing while he was saying something, or staring into nothing for a matter of seconds before reacting with the suitable emotion.)

“Are you okay? Palau told me Teikoku hurt you”, she asks, approaching him. He turns to look at her after reaching for a book that had drawn him, staring at her with an empty look.

“I’m fine”, he replies, void and uncertain, before looking down at the book with a dejected look, like he had been reminded of what had transpired. “I had just been making a mockery of Tokyo’s funeral earlier.”

She tilts her head with confusion; from what she can tell, he was rather fond of his older half-brother (despite his look of horror and feeling of disgust when he discovered he tied Palau to a  _ bomb _ ) and she doesn’t really see him as a man to disrespect a funeral procession (that would go to Teikoku). “How so?”

“Well, first of all, I had been late to the procession, which had started at 6”, he answers, not taking his eyes off the book. “Secondly, according to my brother, I had deemed myself too ‘ _ special _ ’ because I had witnessed Tokyo’s death; it was…  _ embarrassing _ and it hurt my brother, to say the least.”

“Teikoku? Saying that you were special ‘cause you witnessed something as traumatizing as that?” she raises a brow, not really entertaining the notion that that bastard could fully be somber in something like the death of a loved one. “To be honest, I feel like Teikoku would be the most…  _ disrespectful _ in sorrowful events out of you three brothers.” She peers at him closely, making him even more comfortable. “I don’t see you as the type to have contempt in these situations.”

“Well, that’s because Teikoku knows my true self”, Koku says, slamming the book shut, causing America’s eyes to flitter in surprise. As he puts the book back on the self and starts to walk away from her, he keeps on talking (while she struggles to catch up), “I’ve been lying to you all along about who I am; I’m trying to stop hiding myself.”

She tries to walk along with him, while also trying to keep distance, “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean… don’t you ever feel like I’m hiding something from you?” he asks, finally facing her, his grey eyes darker than usual; a terrible thunder storm approaching… or maybe that's just the lighting.

She lifts a brow, “I mean, you hid your feelings from me and from the way you’re acting, you’re hiding a lot more.”

He ignores her statement, preferring to make an assumption himself, “I’ve been manipulating you for as long as I can remember.” He thinks for a moment before his face lights up, “But I’m going to try hard as not to manipulate you, I promise.”

She looks up at him (she’s still salty over the fact she wasn’t tall), a bemused expression on her face. “How have you been manipulating me?”

He splutters at his words, stopping for a moment as he waves his arms, “You know… making you feel sorry for me and making you think that you’d enjoy my company, or…  _ liking _ me.”

“What’s your definition of manipulation?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“The skill of controlling someone with the use of words and emotions”, he says with a sigh, averting his gaze, “I unfortunately have been doing that to others.”

“...When did you know you’ve been manipulating me?” she asks.

He scratches his heads, his eyes on the — ruined — glass walls. “Teikoku told me, which was why you’ve been sticking by my side, always; I don’t deserve such kindness.”

She couldn’t help herself; she stares at Koku feeling uselessly guilty at something he’d never done. “...You also  _ do know _ that if manipulating someone, you had to have ulterior motives and would have done it on  _ purpose _ , right?”

The boy fidgets with his arms, “Um… Teikoku also said that there was no excuse if a person didn’t do it on purpose; the subconscious  _ wants _ to manipulate the said person, so it’s still manipulation.”

America sighs, her face softening to that of a mother teaching her children the most trivial of things (which she usually does, though it’s caused her headaches), “Koku… what Teikoku’s teaching you is wrong.”

The younger man, however, stands his ground, “Teikoku would never lie to me.”

She peers closer at him, before saying, “Sure.”

“Koku! America!” They were interrupted by a small voice, and a dainty girl running towards them with a book. Palau hugs the couple (but not officially one) before breaking it with a look of hurt on her face. “I was just buying a book that captivated my eye, and then I realised you two were gone! Why did you two leave me?”

Koku glares at the shorter woman, who only smiles awkwardly in return. She faces Palau with a — sincere — look of apology. “I’m sorry sweetie, I’ll be more careful next time, I promise.” She pats the younger girl on the head for comfort.

“Didn’t Teikoku say you weren’t allowed to go outside?” Koku asks, raising a brow, before glaring once again at America.

Palau fiddles with her dress, slightly uneasy at the mention of her father, “America promised me that after I stood guard while she searched for something Teikoku had told her to do.”

He blinks, somewhat surprised that Teikoku had asked  _ America _ (who he knows he hates with a passion, though he didn’t know why), “Oh, well, I’d be happy to bring you back home. Teikoku had vanished into one of the bathrooms, telling me he had ‘ _ a score to settle with _ ’.”

With that, the three of them headed home— America took one last look at the Town Square, unconsciously patting the pocket with the hard drive full of Teikoku’s data, before walking back home, still a few distances away from Koku, with Palau between them.

* * *

“America had successfully taken files.” One of the members of his staff states, staring at their master with fear in their eyes, perhaps from a potential beating. “I saw the woman holding a hard drive, before taking Palau into the Town Square.”

Teikoku doesn’t say anything at first; he blows dark grey smoke from his mouth, already high from the cannabis and cigarettes he had kept smoking from the day. In his mind, he wished that She was here— he smiles, mocking himself; but the woman he loved  _ was _ tied up on the bed, he just has to do this tiresome business first.

“Don’t sweat on it, Thailand”, he replies with a casual wave of his hand, smiling in ecstasy. “I already know who to call to get those back. But I need you to do something for me.”

He takes a file from his drawers, opening it to a picture of a woman with dark blonde hair and sea-blue eyes, smiling sweetly at the camera. The name on the file read, ‘ _ Villers Bretonneux _ ’. Teikoku stares at the woman for a moment; she looks quite sweet and pretty… but not as pretty as the love of his life, so to speak.

“Use her as ransom against the data”, he states, calmly and clearly, despite his clouded mind. “You can do whatever you want with her when you have the whore with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, in order to not be confused, here's the estimation of everyone's ages in the AU  
> America- early to mid-30's (Canada, Aussie and Kiwi have a two years-gap between them cause UK's a slut)  
> JE and the other mob leaders- late 30's- early 40's  
> Japan- early to mid 20's  
> Mongolia, SK, NK, Hokkaido- late teens  
> Palau, Ost and West- mid-teens  
> Okinawa- one-three years old  
> i really like younger men with older women okay


	19. Can't Help Falling In Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, a chapter that's below 10k words; tho it packs a punch with JE being more of an asshole  
> a bittersweet chapter!

America, for all she was known for (being the most impulsive of her siblings, a headstrong and prideful individual, and that large amount of stress she projects onto bed), a lot of people don’t actually think she could  _ read _ the situation amidst the station today. After eating pseudo-breakfast at a local diner joint — because she can’t cook — and brewing herself coffee (expresso), she heads towards the police station, getting her officers’ bearings before departing towards Koku’s home.

However, the usual cheerful and jovial air in the station (that Australia usually carries with him, since his smile is  _ very _ contagious) seemed to have vanished; sucked into whatever current air is being emitted right now. She was supposed to smile once she hears her brother’s voice (probably doing or saying something stupid) but all she hears is the unmistakable sound — or the lack of it — of silence.

Her frown deepens when she walks into the seemingly empty corridors; every morning every corridor would have had a few officers socializing with each other, the entire station buzzing with lively conversation before going to their respective corners.

Admittedly, she was a little — a  _ lot _ — detached from her brothers; they still hang out from time to time and act like normal people, but she — and by extension, her siblings — doesn’t really meddle in the lives of each other. Basically: they grew up together and still knew each other at large, but they’re usually absent in each other’s  _ private _ everyday lives.

(It’s actually sad, now that she thinks about it— the fact that they seem to behave around each other like shattered souls, but also having to learn each other’s personal life from them after a few days of prying or when asked, or through a secondary source.)

Then she hears a few grunts and shouting in New Zealand’s and Australia’s shared desk (she granted them that because they were almost always inseparable), and, with concern and confusion, she decides to check on them.

Knowing her brothers, they were rather noisy in how they show their love for each other (the quietest Australia has ever gotten was gifting her an exploding cake on her birthday), but as she walks closer towards her brothers, she can hear them talking— or rather,  _ arguing _ ; which was already rare for them to do.

“Aus, calm down for a moment!” she hears the agitated voice of her youngest brother; he has never sounded so in pain or emotional before.

She hears the unmistakable  _ thud _ of someone who has punched the wall (she mentally notes that whoever did that is going to pay, especially after repairs were still going on), and, concern going up the roof, she enters the room.

“‘Calm down’?” Australia repeats in a low voice, glaring at his brother; an angry Australia was rather rare, but whenever he does… well, he had been sent to juvie a few times before, and their father used him as a means to intimidate one of his new victims. “How can I ‘ _ calm down _ ’? She’s  _ GONE _ !”

Kiwi, miraculously, hasn’t surrendered just from Australia’s heated glare, still retaining his ground. “She’s not  _ gone _ , Aus, calm down for a sec! We can tell America about this! Just relax!”

She decides that this was the perfect time to jump in their conversation, “Tell me about what?”

In an instant, Australia and Kiwi’s eyes were at her; instead of greeting their sister cheerfully (with Australia giving her a ten-second bear hug), Australia glared at her.

Her brother points an accusing finger at her. “This is all your fucking fault!”

She holds up a hand, bewildered at such a statement. “What the hell do you mean?”

He doesn’t back down, only getting even more riled up. “She’s  _ gone _ because of you!”

“ _ Who’s _ gone?” she asks; but she already knows who it was. “And what does that have to do with  _ me _ ?”

In a second, Australia’s calloused palms dig into his pockets, before roughly shoving a scrap of paper into her face. He then lets go of it like it was some sort of poison, however she manages to catch it on time. As her eyes read from left to right and back again, her heart starts to beat faster, her blood runs cold, and all the hairs of her skin are raised.

“ _ Give back every single piece of information you stole, or you will never see her again _ .”

She slowly looks back up at Australia, who is now giving her a pleading look; a look that he needs Villers back, his soulmate, his  _ everything _ .

All she needs to do is give back the data she had stolen from Teikoku; the data that she had worked  _ hard _ on to get.

(She hadn’t even gotten much sleep last night— all because of the familiar names and the rather peculiar blueprints of a device named ‘Doomsday’ with a dome-shaped roof and spider-like lenses. And last night she had ignored her brothers’ pleas to stop but she’s been combing through so many files of Teikoku’s companies, colleagues, and blueprints… even contacts with the UN about the sewage plants.)

She’s silent for a moment; lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes on the paper, as she still doesn’t want to talk to her brothers— not yet, when her mind is buzzing with thoughts.

She doesn’t know what to think— or act.

Her mind is — once again — halved into two sides; one being selfish and conceited and wanting to keep Teikoku’s data with her, while her distressed and already panicking side is brainstorming out plans to save Villers from Teikoku.

“Well?” She looks up at Australia’s look of desperation and Kiwi’s mixed look of sadness and apprehension. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

For the first time in her life (or the second time, since she was also thinking about her feelings for Koku), she felt as if the answer on her mouth right now wasn’t the answer she wanted to say at all; for the first time, she felt  _ unsure _ .

“Meri, Teikoku has  _ Villers _ captive”, Australia says in a low voice, bordering on madness and the drive to kill all those who stand in their way. “I’m not going to wait for you to say that we’re going to need backup, because we’re  _ all _ going to take Villers back ourselves—”

“Hold on, Aus”, she says, stopping her brother for once. She thinks for a moment; on how what she will be about to say will cause a rift between them. “Why don’t we take things slowly, one step at a time?”

He frowns, “What do you mean?”

She wipes sweat that was forming on her forehead; this is going to end in a shouting match, that’s for sure. “Calm down for a moment, Aus; are you  _ sure _ Villers was kidnapped by Teikoku?”

Kiwi, having the most intellect out of all of them, gives her a warning glare, already knowing what she was doing. But for those of you who knew America, she won’t close her mouth until she’s finished speaking her mind.

The redhead only glares at his sister, “Yes I’m fucking sure! He even left a note in my bed!” He gestures toward the torn piece of paper like it was the only evidence they had (which, yes it was).

She sighs, sifting through her hair, averting her gaze a couple of times before looking back at her brothers. “Listen Aus… I worked hard on gaining that piece of data, only for it to be brought back to that asshole after a fortnight? After everything I’ve done?”

Australia’s confused and slightly aggravated face morphs into one of anger and hurt. “What are you trying to say?”

“What I meant to say is… maybe we should wait a few more days before acting. I’m not going to give him back what I already stole from him.”

Kiwi gives her the biggest “ _ You’re Asking For It _ ” glare, just when Australia’s face turns red as his hair. “Are you fucking  _ kidding _ me America?!” His voice was as high as the clouds, but it sent tremors to the ground. His siblings wince at such a loud sound, created by someone who is hurt, angry, and most of all, lost. His fists were clenched and shaking, his eyes were squeezed shut, preventing tears, and he grits his teeth.

Then he turns back towards America, tears flooding his eyes; but refusing to let them go. “I expected you to side with me, ya know. Turns out you only cared about getting into that bastard’s brother’s pants rather than helping your brother.”

A look of hurt flashes across her face— but it immediately fades, as she has no right to be offended when she’s asking for him to  _ wait _ even though his fianceè is being tortured as they have their filial melodrama. Her brother wipes away the tears forming in his eyes, before silently walking past her— which was unusual for him to do.

As he slams the door — signifying that he left the station for better or worse — Kiwi turns his gaze towards an unrepentant and defiant America.

(If Canada had been here, he’d be able to mediate the situation; and it’s solved.)

“Why did you think saying that would calm him down?” the youngest brother asks, extending his arms to emphasize the level of hurt she had inflicted towards their brother.

She tries to keep herself calm; even when she was hurt by that remark about her and Koku (it makes her conflicting feelings even stronger with that remark), agitated about Villers’ kidnapping, and worried about Australia. “It  _ did _ calm him down, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t you think that he’ll go storm off and face Teikoku himself?”

She turns to face him once again, clearly annoyed (although Kiwi’s protests were for a good cause), “Then go and watch him— and probably get him to drink, his mind would be a little clouded and he’d just go venting about his wife before puking and then falling asleep.”

He sighs, scratching his head. “You’ll take care of the Villers thing, I take it?”

She looks at him with a bemused expression on her face. “Yeah; you take care of our brother, I’ll go and get Villers.”

“You’ll give him back the original files, right?”

She stares at him, an intense flare in her eyes as her lips are pursed into a thin line. “I… don’t know yet, to be honest.”

He sighs, “Sometimes even the simplest of choices can be the hardest— but we both know what you’re gonna pick, you only need more time.” With that, he walks out of the door, leaving America to think of her impending decisions.

Her feelings at the moment were hard to describe— it was a flurry of negative emotions conquering the back of her mind, driving away all the positive emotions out. Every time she faces herself with a new problem, she blocks it with an older and much faced-with problem. But all problems — Koku, Villers, data — are connected into one  _ massive _ difficulty:  _ Teikoku _ .

Reminding herself of what might be happening to Villers right now, her small flames of anger becomes a wildfire; her very strong hate towards that man has doubled, a sun conjuring up balls of heat towards a single spec of abominable life.

It takes her a few seconds to calm down; she will have to face all of her problems on her own. Only calm and control will get her out of this. So she stands there, for a moment, arms crossed and thinking to herself about the drawbacks she is experiencing right now.

The first one has to be Villers— knowing Teikoku, he can never keep his hands to himself. She shudders at the thought of his crimson red eyes befalling on every woman he sees as docile, sweet and pretty (which is perhaps every woman), his hands wanting to tear her apart and lips and teeth wanting to taste her flesh.

She cringes, already imagining the pain that she’s been going through just last night; and she doesn’t want to elongate her pain either. Villers was strong, in her own way (able to tolerate a group of noisy kindergarteners and fiancè, cook a lot of meals to said kindergarteners and fiancè, and have a ton of patience and never even getting angry), but she can get hurt and saddened at the smallest of things (like Australia raising his voice, or that time someone kicked a puppy down the canals).

She was a sweet and jovial soul, and for it to be ruined by someone lusting after her...

She clenches her eyes for a moment; she didn’t want to imagine Teikoku touching or hurting her friend in any way, she loves her for eternity, and she wishes that she and Australia could be happy together— nothing hindering the both of them.

Then there’s the branch of the Villers problem, and how it started: her transferring all of the data into the flash drive, and Teikoku subsequently finding out about it. Now that she  _ was _ thinking about it, getting the needed data had seemed so easy; like she had expected a tightrope and beneath her is a boiling pot, but it was a walk in the park for some reason. All she had to do was hack into his system and — after being repulsed at the footage of his main camera — search for his files, type in his password (‘Nihon’...  _ creative _ ) and she has the treasure.

It was almost as if that man had baited her into this.

She scowls— he really  _ did _ bait her into this.

She can already hear him laughing his ass off from behind the computers; he knows that he could take her down, slowly but surely, but first, he’s going to mock her endlessly.

In her mind, America lists down all of the things that she had read from yesterday up to last night; the names of all the prostitutes and women that had managed to catch his eye (ranging from Shanghai up to Ryukyu; women from up to twenty-two to forty-three, girls from fifteen to eighteen), the various restaurants and companies he’s owned (oh god, even her favorite diner is owned by him), even warehouses where he’s stored all his needed drugs and whatnot.

Then there are also the countless — signed — contracts and documents with the UN about ‘selling’ the Hidden Corners to him (with a few sweet words and sentences that need more comprehension), the ownership of the Core of the City (she has… no clue of what he was talking about there), various tapes from the cameras, and the embezzlement of funds meant for relief goods and donations to the poor.

And let’s not forget— that peculiar blueprints for what seems to be a device capable of destroying everything.

(Or maybe she was merely exaggerating and over thinking.)

Then there’s her problem with Koku; no matter how many times she tries to get him out of her mind, thoughts of him always prevails— especially after what happened yesterday, and the day before that. Every time her mind is empty or blank and void, her mind got her thinking about their situation; even if there was nothing between them, just plain awkwardness and tension.

(America’s brain tells her it was a romantic or sexual tension— she swats that thought away with a curse word trailing behind her.)

She had several attempts at trying to get those intrusive musings out of her head, but to no avail. It was like she was struggling to complete her task but she keeps getting distracted by the newest intrusive thoughts and her hands going to newer websites and becoming more and more engrossed at  _ not _ doing her proper work.

Needless to say, she’s trying to block her confusing feelings about him; he was nice and all, and he was rather caring— but he lacks independence and doesn’t read social cues well, he’s unaware that everything that comes out of Teikoku’s mouth is pure bullshit, and has the tendency to act like a kindergartener whenever he’s sad or in contempt.

What she’s trying to say is, she doesn’t think Koku is ready for a serious relationship yet. Perhaps this was all just a big crush and huge infatuation, which will fade in the long run; he doesn’t need something as stressful as relationships in general.

_ I don’t even think he has the capability to understand a real relationship _ , she muses to herself, before sighing and sitting down on Australia’s desk.

Does she hate Koku? Not really— she was rather exasperated at how he was so unaware and will largely put himself in harm’s way, really annoyed by his constant behavior of apologising, insisting it was his fault and no one else’s. Then she’s rather put out by the various times Koku vanishes from her eyes, or the times he’s put himself in mortal danger all because he wanted to read a few books in the bookshop.

Does she  _ like _ Koku? She doesn’t really know— while she admits that the compliments and gift-showering was flattering and charming to some degree, she doesn’t see anything different from him and other people. He also had — lowkey — tried flirting with her, but those weren’t really her kind of thing. And before she could forget, he  _ did _ save her from those packs of drunk guys and was usually always there when she went having a pity party by herself.

And then the amount of kisses he had given her in a span of a few weeks— the first two, in a drunken haze, were all rough and unexpected at first; but then that exterior melts like some sort of chocolate being placed at the heat of the sun. Their first (and by extension, also their second) kiss was — to be honest — wasted upon tons of hormones and an unneeded situation, but their third and most recent kiss was… extremely euphoric.

It was like a nice surprise, wrapped in bundles of sweet nothings and intimate whispers, a warmth spreading into her veins like a pair of wings about to grow and let her soar high into the skies. He was by all means not a bad kisser, just a less experienced and amateur kisser.

She can already feel herself tingling just from the thought of visiting Koku again, even wanting to tell him how she felt about him (which she still doesn’t know  _ how _ she felt, and that’s the problem).

And the part of her mind focusing on her various problems wraps up; she already knows what she’s going to pick, and she knows what the right thing was.

She takes a deep breath; what a way to go, acting like the hero once again, in the face of peril. What was she going to do in this situation concerning Villers? Let Australia rampage around the city? She’s not risking that.

“Philip! Vietnam! Get over here!” she calls, poking her head out the room. In a matter of seconds, the pair — while glaring at each other — make their way towards their chief officer. She forwards the flash drive, her eyes full of determination and resilience. “I need you both to copy the said files from this drive. Once it’s done, meet me at the back of the station at about… sundown, got it?”

Philip shrugs like it was no big deal (it probably isn’t in his book; he has no concern for the biggest of things, always prioritizing the unnecessary details), before taking the drive from her hands while giving her a double-edged smile. “No problem,  _ madam _ .” He takes off with Vietnam, leaving America alone and with her own devices once again.

* * *

Much to her surprise — and hidden delight — Koku was waiting for her, leaning on the gates once again, reading a book. As she walks closer towards him, however, he raises his gaze from the book he was reading, before giving her a small and soft smile.

(Which was enough to make her smile; she can feel the corners of her lips curve upwards.)

“How are you?” he asks brightly, putting the book down.

Her smile — unconsciously — grows wider. “I’m fine; I just miss this place.” She feels herself being tongue-tied and cringing at the sentence she had uttered. She tilts her head; a few strands of her dark blonde hair that had escaped her bun fall. “How are you?”

His stare lingers on her for a moment; his grey eyes lighting up, although his expression stays the same, until he snaps himself out of his enthralled gaze. “Oh! I’m fine, thank you for asking. By the way, I won’t be available for a few hours, can you go talk to Palau for me?”

She feels something deep inside her that was the same as an excited balloon deflating. With her smile still plastered on her face, she nods slowly. “That’s cool. What are you gonna do for the next few hours?”

He averts his gaze a little, but gives her another smile, “I have another talk with Teikoku; something about my academics and stuff.” He forces a small laugh out of his lungs. “I don’t even go to  _ real _ school.”

She realizes that he was only trying to defuse the awkward situation which is — surprisingly — still in the air. She scratches her hair, “Oh, alright. I’ll tell Palau you came and said hi.” America winks at him (making the young man blush; red spots were appearing on his face as well) before going inside, already knowing where to find the girl.

She visits the pantry first— Palau has a liking to many sweets or pastries around the house, except for the fact she seemed to be more interested at managing her body; despite still being a young teenager and being  _ ridiculously _ skinny for someone her age. The pantry was the easiest place to navigate; either because her appetite for sweets is unhealthy or it was the second place Koku introduced her to.

As she’s busily raiding the pastry, a small tug on her pants got her attention. To her amusement, it was the small toddler she had seen the other day; seems like he actually knows how to walk without an adult — or guardian — to help him. The boy —  _ Okinawa _ , she reminds herself — looks up at her intently.

“What is it?” she asks; to be honest she hates how all of Teikoku’s family have a signature blank face, it’s putting her off a lot. He points towards one of the bags of chocolate chips in her hands. “You want this?” The toddler nods, his chubby head contrasting his slim neck. She gives the small bag of chocolate chips to him, and he proceeds to gnaw on said package with his baby teeth— it was a cute sight.

“Okinawa, there you are!” a soft but familiar voice enters the room— for the second time today, she smiles. Palau scoops Okinawa up smoothly; for someone who looks like their body could break while carrying something — or someone — as heavy as a two-year old toddler. The young boy coos as he drops his chocolate chip bag onto the ground, but America picks it up for him. Golden eyes stare back at her, before she grins. “ _ Konnichiwa, America-san _ .”

“Hey.” She then remembered why she was here, before giving the young girl a chocolate bar. “Here; for you.”

She stares at the sweet; in her mind, she must be debating whether or not to take the chocolate bar. Perhaps she’s still taking precautions on her — unneeded — diet (but she is  _ concerningly _ underweight), and being offered kindness in the hands of a candy bar might be violating her strict fasting.  _ But _ rejecting a gift is also seen as impolite; and judging from the fact that her father is  _ Teikoku _ , she probably has no clue on how to say no.

She slowly extends her arm before clasping the bar like it’s the end of the world. “ _ Arigatō _ .” She puts it in one of her pants pockets, no doubt abandoning it there until she remembers it existed.

America tries to pull themselves out of an awkward conversation (like her and Koku, except it seemed a lot more normal than whatever they were doing right now) with a dismissive smile and a wave of her hand. “So, how are you Palau?”

The younger girl gives her a small smile, “I’m alright; me and Okinawa just got out of our classes, so now we’re going to play together.”

“I thought Hokkaido was Okinawa’s babysitter?”

Palau shrugs, “Yeah but, he and  _ Ojisan _ are being lectured by dad now.”

“Why?” She can’t help but feel cold at the thought of Teikoku alone with his family— he’s known in her mind as some sort of demon that unleashes his relentless fury onto his kin.

“Something about their ‘ _ academics _ ’.” For some reason, she scowls at that; she groans and crosses her arms, acting and looking more like a schoolgirl. “It isn’t fair that they’re smart and I’m stupid.”

America furrows her brow, “What do you mean?”

Palau sighs, shifting a little from her space, looking at Okinawa who smudged himself with the chocolate chip cookies. “Papa doesn’t like what the tutors think of me; I get distracted easily, I’m not committed to my studies, and I don’t have good or perfect marks on the test my teachers gave me.” She sighs, “Papa’s right— I’ll become a lowly housewife because of this.”

She gently rubs the other’s shoulder; she didn’t seem to be objecting or freaking out, she was only looking at her younger brother. “Don’t say that about yourself— you can become successful, even if your grades are low. Do you have any interests?”

The young girl thinks for a moment, before opening her mouth. “I really like studying about animals; aquatic animals, mostly. Papa always gives me gifts whenever my scores are above average— but now that my scores are  _ below _ average, he’s never going to add something into my aquarium again, not unless I can raise my scores.”

“It’s alright sweetie”, the older woman says soothingly, like a mother does to her child. “People fail, but that’s alright! It’s not the end of the world.”

“But Papa keeps saying like it  _ is _ the end of the world”, she retorts softly, cradling Okinawa, who giggles underneath the crumbs of chocolate chip cookies and his arms still toying with the cookies’ pack. “If I fail, I’m done for.”

“Well, failing a test you’re not committed to study on isn’t being done for or anything; you’re just not motivated to study well enough for it.” She gives the girl a small smile; perhaps a motivation for her. “If you really,  _ really _ wanna pass and please your dad… study hard, or get help from your brother or uncle if they’re ‘smart’.”

“But… they might get mad at me asking them.”

“Palau, dear, you don’t even know if they will get mad at you until you ask them, alright?”

She seems to understand what she was trying to say, “...Alright. Thank you for your kind advice, America.”

The woman smiles, “Any time; if either one of them are free, ask them, all right?”

She nods, smiling, “Okay.”

_ This feels like another conversation-ender _ , America thinks to herself. “So, what are you going to do now?”

Palau looks up at her with a beaming grin, “I was gonna feed my pets along with Okinawa, but you can join in too, if you like.”

America beams. “I’d love to.”

They smile at each other— like a mother and daughter about to have some fun. She remembers that the girl in front of her didn’t really have a good childhood; if she had, she doubted that she was showered with love anyways, judging from the various gifts and ‘rewards’ her father would give her as a compensation of the love he never gave her (she doesn’t even remember Teikoku giving them affection unless it was for his own gain).

Perhaps the reason why she was — very — attached to the girl in front of her was because she reminded her of herself, back in the old days of her childhood.

(While Britain  _ did _ attempt to show he actually  _ cared _ about his children — which proved to be difficult — he was more of a cold and strict father with them, always caring about his offspring like they could bring in money and investments to him; like they are just businesses.)

Palau bobs her head up and down, “Well, what’re you waiting for? Let’s go!”

She nods, entertained by the little girl’s enthusiasm. “All right.”

Just in time — and just inappropriately — Koku walks in the pantry, looking abashed and nervous. He shifts his weight on one foot to another, and when he does that, he unconsciously lets his leg bounce. His hands seem to be tied at the back, while his eyes lands almost everywhere except for the two, his head tilted to the side, turning away every second. His lips were curled into a somewhat expressionless line, and his eyes quiver.

America raises a brow. “I thought you’re with your brother for a few hours? Or did something happen?”

Her voice looked to have snapped him out of his frenzy; he jerks his head to look at her with an unreadable look, before averting his gaze from her, a new set of blush on his face. He sways his body, inhaling and exhaling then looking at her. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything; but can I have a word with America alone in the gardens?”

From the corner of her vision, she can see Palau visibly deflate at the question. While America was rather disheartened that she and Palau’s time is cut short, her heartbeat goes louder as she replays that sentence again and again in her mind; Koku wants to talk to her in the gardens.  _ Alone _ . That is enough to make her hypothesize what was going to happen.

But she chooses to ask him anyway, “Why?”

He just sighs, like he reminded himself why he hesitated until now to tell her. “Just come with me, all right?”

She shrugs, “Fine with me.” She turns her head towards Palau, who was staring dejectedly at the floor whilst Okinawa was still attempting to eat those cookies cleanly, but the crumbs on his bib and pajamas say otherwise. Her face softens at the sight; she sighs and lifts Palau’s chin up so that she can look at her in the eyes. “I’m sorry we have to cut this short sweetie; why don’t you go and ask your brother if he can help you with the aquarium okay?”

The younger girl stares at her, nodding meekly, “Okay, thank you for being so kind to me.”

She smiles, patting her head. “You guys seriously need it.”

Then she turns back towards Koku, who was looking at her once again with that same expression from a while ago; watching her intently. To be honest, it was rather off-putting.

He clears his throat, “Well then, we’ll be taking our leave now. Also, Palau,  _ do not _ use my shirt as a basket— and if you do, stop dumping it in my room after use. There’s a laundry room just right around the corner.”

His niece smiles at the warning, “I won’t, I promise.”

America hears something about ‘damp shirts that smelled like meat’ from Koku’s mouth; she can’t help but chuckle softly as they leave Palau and Okinawa in the pantry.

As they walk to the gardens, side-by-side, the corners of their hands brush together— although neither one had the courage to enclose their fingers on each other, preferring to keep brushing their fingers for warmth; not that America was complaining. The only thing she was complaining about — among other things — was the fact that despite going to the gardens (and perhaps going to that secret place), they kept their mouths shut.

America was all in for filling in the silence with conversations, but now she ran out of awkward conversation starters (unless it was about crime matters but okay) and the way Koku walks seems like he’s not focused on a conversation about the weather or Teikoku.

So… they walk the halls in silence, all the while giving each other weird looks of either infatuation (Koku) or confusion (America).

When they walk into the familiar landscape of the gardens, with its immortal and ethereal beauty, Koku seems to quicken his pace; which was peculiar and unusual of him, since he takes time to stroll around every part of the gardens (she usually jokes that this was more of a forest than a garden— who has  _ time _ to cultivate something as big as this?). She, meanwhile, takes time; just because he was rushing, doesn’t mean she would.

She takes time admiring the landmarks around the place; the flower bushes that was almost always flooded with butterflies of all shapes, colors and sizes, then to the trees that unnecessarily bear fruit (no wonder Teikoku has a business outside of entrepreneurship), then to the flowers that manage to escape their respective stalks, running against the clean sidewalk (while Koku manages to avoid them).

Once they reach Koku’s secret and hidden place, America turns to Koku, who was still staring at her; of course when they both lock eyes, he looks away like he does not deserve to look at her.

She uncomfortably shifts her weight from one foot to the other— for the first time she felt the tense and awkward air around the two of them.

“Well… what do you want to talk about with me?  _ Alone _ ?” she emphasizes the last word, rubbing her arms a little.

Koku’s lips tremble a little, before taking another deep breath and — finally — looking at her in the eye. “There’s something you need to do.”

She raises a brow, tilting her head sideways. “Like what?”

He sighs, “Can you just… close your eyes for a second?”

“Alright.” Obeying, she closes her eyes, wondering what the hell Koku was about to do to her.

The only thing she can see from her close-lidded eyes is the color orange everywhere; like a flare igniting and shining bright across the sky. She hears the young man sigh in front of her, before hearing a jingling sound. She hears him say, “ _ Teikoku, gomenasai _ .” She feels someone walking closer, warm breath tickling her face. Though she really wants to take a peek, Koku still hasn’t told her to open her eyes.

She feels his hands lingering on her cheek; warm yet soft, even when those touches disappear. Then she feels lips— not on her own lips, but on her forehead, once Koku had parted enough locks for him to kiss her. The kiss was just as soft as the one she had felt on her lips; but even then it was intimate and personal, like they really were in a relationship. America hears the sound of jingling once again, and hands letting go of her face (much to her disappointment), and something on her neck.

From what she can interpret from her closed eyes, he had stepped back, no more air of tightness and closeness around them, but she can feel her skin remain tingling from his kiss and her heart beating similar to an explosion happening.

“You can… open your eyes now.” Even with her eyes closed, she can already see the image of Koku awkwardly standing and staring at her while being as red as a tomato— which he was.

America looks down and sure enough, the soft jingles and jangles she had heard while her eyes were closed were from a small, silver chained necklace, all the way reaching up towards her chest, with intricate cursive letters written at the bottom; her name. Her green eyes widened at the sight of it, her mouth shaped into an ‘o’; a few of her fingers carried the letters— they were cold in texture, but just by tracing the cursive, it felt like her name had been rebranded… in a better way.

“Do you like it?” Koku gives him a small smile. “That necklace took days to complete; it only got shipped here today.”

She stares at it, before looking back at him. “It’s so beautiful, but I don’t deserve something like this.”

He tilts his head, grey eyes shining. “But you do.”

America shakes her head, “You spent a lot of money on this; and honestly, it’s a damn shame you’re giving such a beautiful gift to me.” She gently takes off the necklace with a dejected look on her face— a part of her berates her for removing it, but she insists it was the right thing for her to do.

In an instant, Koku’s hands were on her fingers lacing on the necklace, his eyes shining, this time with a plea in them. “You really,  _ really _ deserve this.”

“Why would you give me such an expensive gift?” She ignores the fact that his hands were holding hers involuntarily, her face red and her insides feel guilt. “This probably cost you a fortune.”

He smiles awkwardly (she debates on whether that was a smile, since only the corners of his lips turn upwards), “Actually, I only sacrificed a third of my allowance for that. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t as special as the necklace.”

“But still; what’d you bring me here for? To give me this beautiful but expensive piece of jewelry? No offense but this is kinda the least useful thing you can give me right now.” She looks down at the necklace, the faint sunlight that had managed to escape the trees and reach the grass, its silver chains glinting.

“Because I really like you”, Koku replies, his voice firm and hard; there was no evidence of the awkwardness and nervousness that he had in himself earlier.

The answer catches America off guard; she’s already aware of his — unrequited — crush and infatuation towards her, but he told her that in the bluntest and most straightforward way he can muster. She doesn’t even know what her feelings for him are, but the flurry of ‘like’ is dominating her brain.

“You do?” she asks, raising a brow. “Why do you say that?”

He looks away for a moment, eyebrows furrowing and going back to his ‘awkward and emo’ posture, before regaining his light and staring back at her with resolution. “I don’t know why, but for the first time in years, I felt something with you.”

She crosses her arms, unamused, “I’ve heard every guy say that to me, just to compel me to date or bang them.”

His face morphs into one of confusion, “I’m sorry I sound stupid, but what does ‘bang’ mean?”

America sighs, facepalming. “Just get on with your speech of why you like me, then.”

He goes back to his confident and matured self, “You won’t buy that ‘ _ we’re connected _ ’ crap, I know, but you make me feel like… life’s more than being in your brother’s shadow, grieving about your dead mom, helping my nephews and niece with their homework. You make me feel like I can accomplish  _ anything _ that my life didn’t give me yet. I know my feelings were out of the blue, unnecessary and hindering your job, but I wanted to try something with you. We might break off just a week from now, but that’s okay; at least I know what my life would be like if I got to make my  _ own _ decision.”

America stares at him, speechless; it wasn’t the first time he’s created a speech just by using his brain (he comforted her after Teikoku called her  _ that _ word one too many times), but she believes it was both from the mind  _ and _ the heart. She gawks at him like he grew a head or two. She didn’t know what to say; she wanted to tell him that  _ yes _ , he distracts her from her job (guarding him while extracting and spying on Teikoku) but wants to say she is welcome that he had made her think that life is to be decided by the beholder.

She shakes her head— she can’t remove her gaze from him. “I… don’t know what to say.”

He tilts his head, “It’s okay if you reject me; I can feel another emotion I never got to feel.”

Her eyes trace up his body, “I don’t think I can reject you, though.”

They went back to staring into one another’s eyes again; however, Koku’s hands won’t let go of America’s, and at this point she didn’t  _ want _ him to let go. And before they could think about the consequences, they let their impulsive tendencies get in the way; America pulls Koku’s collar and lets their lips collide. Koku lets out a noise of shock before his hesitance dissolves and he kisses back.

America can feel a knot full of suppressed emotions untangling ever so slowly by the kiss— her feelings of liking Koku in a serious way spread out from said untangled knot of suppressed emotions, reaching every part of her body, making her deepen the kiss even more. Koku holds her by her waist, as they make out in the gardens, only the trees shading them from the intrusive and hot rays of the sun.

It was a good feeling; this time there was no shock or hesitation, just them inviting each other into their own arms, feeling as if the entire world was just them, and only them.

They break after a minute of kissing, looking at each other with a new perspective.

“So… was that a yes?” he asks, still holding her by the shoulders.

“...I guess so.” She pulls him into another kiss, still as soft and sweet as the last time they did it, before breaking apart once again. “You’re good, to be honest.”

He gives her an attempt at a smile, and then a joke, “But not the best?”

She shakes her head, wanting to laugh, “Although not the best— but you gotta be one of the most sincere kissers I’ve ever had.”

“Do those show up every time?”

Her eyes look sideways, a smirk forming on her lips. “Not at all.”

He kisses the top of her head again, before saying, “Liar.”

She laughs, “All to not hurt you!” She pushes his hair out of his eyes (which usually always covers his eyes, earning teases from her) and he laughs feebly and embraces her.

They stayed like that for a while— lying underneath the canopy of trees, covering the sun’s blazing fire, was the both of them, seemingly in bliss. America leans onto Koku, who strokes her hair gently, like they already had a happy ending waiting for them. If she was admitting it to herself, she never felt more at peace than with her brothers; it was the first time in her life that she had felt such a connection.

“You’re really the first person to make me feel… like this”, Koku tells America, before he becomes embarrassed. “But you already know that.”

She smiles back at him. “It’s alright; to be honest, I needed it.”

He stares at her. “Why?”

Her smile wavers, reminded of Villers’ abduction. “Family stuff, basically.”

“I won’t pry but... it seems to be disturbing you now that you brought it up.”

America bites her lip— she doesn’t know if she could tell him or not, but in the end, decides to tell him in the most abstract and vague way. “Well, my brother’s mad at me for being selfish and not choosing the most obvious option, which was to save his fiancèe from ransomers.”

He stares at her for a few seconds before giving her a proper reaction, his eyes widening— which seems to be a sign that he was  _ not _ involved in the abduction with his brother, rendering him innocent (or he was only  _ acting _ oblivious; but she’s already known that Teikoku would rather keep his brother unaware than let him involve himself in his plans). “Your brother’s fiancèe was abducted?! Why?”

She really wanted to tell the truth, but that would end up exposing her because even if he’s not the wisest person on the planet, he knows how to put two and two together. “An asshole billionaire wants to ransom our entire family so he took my brother’s soon-to-be-wife.”

“Did you do anything to provoke that guy?”

She shrugs, a smile escaping her lips, meaning that she can indirectly insult Teikoku and he would agree, because despite him being smart he has the aura of naiveness (not innocence, per se) and unawareness. “He wants to get back at my brother because he accidentally spilled champagne on him back in a party.”

She gets the expected reaction from Koku, who gives her a confused and slightly outraged face. “Only for that?! He’s really petty!”

(Actually, Australia  _ did _ accidentally spill champagne on Teikoku a few years back— back when they all were still being taken care of by Britain. Mini Australia was tasked by their father to get champagne, since he was busily talking to a colleague of his. Of course, her red-headed younger brother eagerly wanted to make himself feel competent by offering his father wine, so he immediately got to work.

But while he was walking off towards Britain’s original location, his ten year-old mind got the great idea of taking a  _ small _ sip of champagne — which was a bad idea on its own — and he does it on impulse; then, revolted, he spits on the first solid body-looking wall he sees: Teikoku.

It was a rather fun and entertaining night; seeing Teikoku’s face flare up in anger and Australia making it worse by rubbing on his suit, attempting to remove the spat out champagne.

Then it ends badly as Australia is being dragged into their father’s room for embarrassing him in front of one of his strongest allies.)

“He’s more than that”, she suddenly feels uncomfortable, remembering what might be happening to Villers right now. She slumps down and leans on a tree, feeling all of the negative emotions come back, and Australia’s hurt look back in her memories. “I’m torn between giving him our only fortune for my friend.”

He stares at her with a blank look on his face, “Well, if you’re  _ that _ hellbent on keeping your friend and your brother’s true love on ransom because you want to keep your riches, then you don’t deserve to call yourself a friend.”

She sits up a little, startled at his statement. “What?”

He shrugs, “You don’t seem the type to act greedy— but now, no offense, it’s showing. If you’re  _ still _ deciding whether or not to save her, you shouldn’t consider yourself her friend.”

She wanted to feel hurt that her new boyfriend (maybe?) would say that, but it made her finally cement her final decision. Her face firm and fierce, she abruptly stands up, scaring Koku, whose face turns from a blank one to an apologetic and panicking one.

“D-did I hurt you?” He stands, his tall and lanky figure being overshadowed by the canopy of trees. “I-I’m sorry i-if I did, I-I j-just want to tell you my honest opinion on it.” He hugs himself, his lips quivering and looking away from her.

Her face softens, before cupping his face into her hands, before pulling him down until their foreheads touch. “Don’t worry about how that little speech changed my perception of you; you’re an empathic and pretty understanding guy.” She seals the gap between them with another kiss, before smiling at him and holding his hand. “So don’t be guilty you gave me a pep-talk, ‘cause my dumbass needed it.” Much to his surprise, she kisses his hand before walking past him.

“W-where are you going?” he asks.

She turns back with a smile plastered on her face, “Thank you, for making me realize that I wasn’t a total dumbass choosing my friend over  _ everything else _ .”

As she turns her back, Koku is still confused— but all the while proud of her.

* * *

“Did you guys do it?” she asks Philip and Vietnam once they were alone in a small alley near Teikoku’s home.

(She’s already called Teikoku to tell him about his decision; all he says was to meet him in this said alley, which smelled of dead bodies.)

Philip smiles smugly before giving her the flashdrive, with a wink. “Already did, love.”

She glares at him as she — roughly — pulls the hard drive from him, “Don’t call me that.”

Before they can proceed to their usual banter about pick-up lines and someone punching the other, a shadow is reflected onto the alley’s back walls, causing the trio to stumble and look at their newcomer, which happened to be about  _ five _ newcomers; including a complacent Teikoku and a bound-up Villers being held by two of his guards. When she and Villers make eye contact, the bound woman gives her a pleading and traumatized look.

“ _ Konbanwa _ ,  _ anata _ ”, Teikoku greets, and his voice makes America irritated, all the while Philip and Vietnam stare at him with a wary look on both their faces. With his hands behind his back, he steps forward, his crimson red eyes befalling on the tree of them, like he had them where he wanted them to be. “I take it you want your beloved friend back?” He gives them another unsettling smile.

America has the courage to step forward. “Give her back you asshole.”

He smirks, “Now America, with that language you can’t ever get her back.” His eyes look down towards the hard drive, before looking back into her eyes. “I suppose you’ll have to give me something in return.”

“Give us back Villers first”, she replies with narrowed eyes, already tired and sickened by his games. “And I’ll give you back all the data I stole from you.”

He raises a brow, but his smile is still intact. “Well then.” He nods to his guards to release Villers from their grip; when they do, Villers stumbles with a huge cry. America — concerned for her friend — tries to step forward to help her; but Teikoku blocks her from the view.

“What are you trying to do?” she asks in a distressed tone, however he only grins.

“She was injured from the fighting we did yesterday”, he replies, his smile never falling. “Let her come to  _ you _ , and I can get that damned drive from your dirty hands.” Teikoku steps back, fully trusting America won’t do anything stupid to compromise the situation and Villers.

Villers, meanwhile, was left lying in the ground, looking frail and fragile— like she had been played roughly and treated more like a rag doll. From the small slits on her wrists (that had escaped her long-sleeved clothing and managed to catch on to the remaining light of the setting sun), it made America feeling concerned. She hears her crying, trying to get up but falling back down.

Seeing her friend’s — and who she sees as a sister — plight makes her turn to Teikoku. “What the hell did you do to her?”

He chuckles, “I had fun with her, obviously.” He glances at Villers crawling, her dark blonde hair that was usually clean and smooth now rough and tangled, covering her face. “She was not so firm and harsh, although she gave me a few kicks and hits; but I managed to discipline her at the last minute. Alas, she was rather inexperienced, so she was just my first course before desert.” His smile grows wider, and so does her and the others’ eyes in understanding.

“You  _ monster _ ”, Vietnam speaks up after minutes of silence, “you  _ broke _ her!”

He seems unfazed by her insult, his beaming face remaining intact. “Of course I did— was that any surprise?”

Villers managed to finally crawl into America’s arms, who had kneeled to give her support, before collapsing into her arms, finally releasing the tears hidden in her eyes. First a nerve-racking sob before moving onto full crying, comparable to an animal dying in the wilderness. America tries to stabilize them, as Villers couldn’t seem to stand properly, like Teikoku had completely cut off her legs.

(She wouldn’t be surprised if he did such sadistic shit like that, but not to  _ Villers _ .)

“Now”, he puts a hand forward, “the drive.”

With one of her hands letting go of Villers, she gives Teikoku the hard drive.

“No file duplication?” he asks, his eyes moving from her towards Philip.

She shakes her head, “Not at all; I promise you.”

He stares at her for a moment, his smile falling then being plastered on again. “I see. And I assume you aren’t lying to me right now?”

The three of them all shake their heads no; even if it was clear at this point that they were lying but — surprisingly enough — he seemed to buy it. Or he  _ doesn’t _ , since he just smiles mysteriously.

“I trust your judgement, I really do”, he says, “so I suppose I’ll leave you now.” His crimson eyes flicker, like a fire that had just started, “I would warn you all to keep yourselves in line, but you already crossed it.” He turns back, still calm and poised, his face becoming serious. “I’ll see you tomorrow, America.”

He and his guards join the shadows, leaving the four of them alone.

After a few more seconds staring at the spot where they had disappeared to, America turns her attention back to Villers, who was still crying in agony. She rubs her friend on the back, maternal instincts returning and trying to comfort her friend. The woman sings and hums a little, turning towards Philip and Vietnam with a look which means she needs help.

She looks back at Villers’ hair-covered face and asks, “Villers, can you walk?”

The woman on her shoulder just chokes on a sob; it seems that she was still very shaken about her abduction and what happened there. She swings one of her arms around her shoulders, catching a glimpse of crimson red on her arms that were revealed, much to her concern.

“Philip, help me!” she calls from behind her back, making Villers flinch at her loud voice. Philip rushes in to help his boss, but even before he can lay a hand on the other woman she screams and winces away from his touch, snuggling deeper to America, trembling. “On second thought; Vietnam, help me!”

Vietnam replaces Philip on helping America, with swinging Villers’ right arm around her shoulder, before proceeding to walk back at the station with Philip guarding them at the back in case of an ambush.

* * *

An hour later, Vietnam and New Zealand were tending to Villers’ wounds (she was rather hesitant in showing them but had to after America gently told her she might get infected) while America was at the monitor. She was also concerned for her friend, of course, but she had to check Australia’s status while Philip was explaining Villers’ condition to her slightly drunk and drowsy brother in the cameras.

“How badly hurt is Villers?” she asks over Vietnam and Kiwi’s exaggerated chattering.

“A few slices and cuts on her arm, her face has a few bruises”, Kiwi cringes at his statement as Villers looks away, still not uttering a word. “And her legs are also bruised, especially her thighs.”

“Does it warrant a hospital visit?” she asks.

Kiwi and Vietnam exchange glances, “Yes.”

“We’ll call the hospital”, America sighs, reaching for the telephone near the monitor, dialing it before giving the phone to Kiwi to manage while she remembers about the file duplicate Vietnam and Philip managed to salvage. “Where did you put the duplicate of Teikoku’s files?”

“Just in the station’s folder’s, named ‘Teikoku’s data’— self explanatory”, she replies, wrapping Villers’ arm in a bandage and speaking in her mother tongue softly to her, while America does what Vietnam says, a bad feeling rises in her stomach, spreading around her body as she clicks on the folder with the data that they had managed to retrieve. She manages to find the folder, before clicking on it, with a — unsurprisingly — password request. “What’s the password?”

Vietnam shrugs, “Fuck you— no spaces.”

“That’s a shitty password.” 

The younger woman shrugs. “The password might as well be aggressive.” 

Her bad feelings intensify as she types that in, unconsciously biting her lip as the screen loads—

There was nothing but what seemed like another note from someone else; with trembling fingers, she clicks on it, to find a pop-up note on her monitor.

“ _ I don’t like liars _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so  
> that happened


	20. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude, where Shanghai and Imsi drive to a city just to search for Minguo.
> 
> **Trigger Warning: mentions of rape, sexual assault, and abuse**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i missed writing China lmao  
> Name Guide:  
> Nippon Koku: Japan  
> Daehan Minguk: South Korea  
> Daehan Imsi: KPG  
> Choson Inmin: North Korea  
> Nippon Teikoku: Japanese Empire  
> Minguo: ROC/Taiwan  
> Renmin: PRC/China

Koku sighs, scratching his head and staring at the papers that were filled with — wrong — solutions and answers. “This is all incorrect— are you joking with me right now?” He turns to stare at Minguk with an exasperated look.

The said boy scratches his head guiltily. “To be honest, and as much as it pains me to say this… I don’t get the procedure.” He sucks in a breath before giving him a pleading look. “Can you  _ help me _ with this?”

His tutor was not amused. “You’re not playing with me or…?”

He shakes his head, holding his arms up in surrender (the surrendering of his pride). “Nope— I would’ve been laughing my ass off if I was.”

Koku narrows his eyes at him with suspicion, then sighs and takes another extra piece of paper and pen out. “Fine, I’ll show you how to solve this; but you have to listen carefully, okay?”

Minguk sighs, knowing he will never hear the end of it. “I will, I will; I promise I won’t bicker with you.”

While the pair were having a tutoring session, their elders were meeting up in Imsi’s room, away from the eyes of those who wish to spy on them. America peeks outside to see if they are buried into their arguments of unbecoming, and when she sees they’re so engrossed in trying to figure out who was better at maths, she closes the door, giving the others a look that means they’re in private.

“I need to talk to you about something—” she says in an urgent and low voice before she notices the two are holding hands; not just the ‘hand-clasping-another-one’s’, but their fingers were  _ entwined _ along with each others’. “You both are… together?” She stares at them with a look of surprise in her face— mostly at Shanghai, who had been in a brothel before even escaping to the real world.

(Thanks to her brother; she silences that part, she doesn’t need to remind herself about him.)

The woman glances at her closed hands, then pivoting her head back to America. “Yes. In a manner of speaking. I don’t even know.”

The undercover police officer raises a brow at Imsi. “You know you need to be more careful; he’s probably waiting for you to submit to him.” The man in question gives her a horrified look as he would never do such a thing.

The other woman raises a brow, her hands holding her lover’s hand tightly. “You don’t know him like I do.”

“You’ve only known each other for a month— I don’t think that’s a good time to start another relationship. Especially for someone who’s been taken advantage of for a decade.”

Shanghai isn’t willing to back down, glaring at her with a fire hidden in her eyes; no wonder Teikoku had wanted to  _ break her _ . Meanwhile, Imsi fidgets slightly, his hand loosening from Shanghai’s grip. He was taking America’s words seriously; and who can blame him? He wouldn’t lay a hand on someone fragile or healing, nor would he assume a relationship in which they both aren’t ready.

He breaks away from her grip, his eyes looking anywhere but Shanghai— guilt settles on his face. “I think America is right, Shanghai.”

Imsi is cautious and more worried about anyone else’s welfare than his— unlike Minguk out there, who was now arguing and complaining to Koku about how it was  _ so hard  _ (or maybe she was exaggerating it; he was as hardworking as his uncle, she just never really saw it) and that he could do better than his tutor.

Shanghai looks at him with a desolate look, “What do you mean?”

He touches his shoulder; now America is sure he was wounded there (and an anxiety reliever, perhaps). “I care and admire you so much, Shanghai, but I think we’re moving our relationship fast.” He finally turns his head to look at her, her reflection shimmering in his eyes. “ _ Joesonghajiman, sigan-i deo pilyo-hamnida _ .”

She tilts her head, leaning onto him and strokes his face. “ _ Mèiguānxì _ .”

America scratches her head; she was only here to bring in the information about someone’s whereabouts (and how much Shanghai knows about the brothels and Teikoku), not this entire love crap. “Look, sorry about getting in the way of your existential crisis as a couple, but I managed to salvage a few of Teikoku’s surviving data.”

Shanghai turns to her, surprise written all over her face. “You managed to infiltrate through Teikoku’s records?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t that hard.” She furrows her brow. “Although Teikoku did it on  _ purpose _ ; he  _ wanted  _ me to see everything he’d done.”

She can’t help but agree, nodding. “Teikoku is like that— he’ll lure you in with a false sense of security, and he’d strike you at the back once you’re caught off guard.” Her hands subconsciously travel down to her — scarred — thighs; the two of them noticed that especially when Shanghai’s face changes into one of pain.

“Are you alright?” Imsi asks, reaching out to her, but she holds out a hand to stop him, coughing into her arms.

“I’m fine now”, she replies, looking into his eyes. “Maybe America’s right; I don’t think we’re ready for an actual relationship.”

The man raises his eyebrows due to surprise and shock; he must’ve not expected such a straightforward answer. Then he lowers his head, staring back at his shoes. “Of course, I’ll respect your boundaries.”

“Thank you.” She nods, subsequently spinning her head to stare at America with an urgent look. “What were you talking about? Teikoku’s data and his dirty secrets? I know  _ a lot _ about them.” Her face softens as she side-eyes Imsi, “But most of these Nabi told me.”

Imsi perks up once he hears his sister-in-law’s name. “Why would he tell her? Isn’t that a liability on his part?”

His partner looks away, “Teikoku is out of it when he’s around her— he believes that they are together, husband and wife.”

His face contorts to a mixture of discomfort and outrage. “He’s disgusting, is what he is. If he believes Nabi would  _ love _ him after everything he did to us and Jeguk, he’s wrong.”

“Well, he’s head-over-heels so in love with her.” She shrugs, a frown climbing up towards her face. “But if he was so ‘ _ in love _ ’ with her he would have treated her better.”

“It’s why I’m so cautious of that man over there”, Imsi looks past America towards that door. “He’s Teikoku’s brother, so we have the right to be wary of him.”

“Then why let him tutor your nephew in the first place? Wouldn’t it be easier to pretend that he and his family doesn’t exist?” America asks, quirking a brow at him.

“I didn’t  _ want _ him to be Minguk’s tutor”, he replies, his voice soft and low. “But Minguk really wanted to study hard and have perfect grades to make his mother proud. I was financially low on money and he was offering for free— also the fact that Minguk wanted to mess with him and try to figure out where his mother is.”

“He didn’t get anything out of him, did he?”

Imsi shakes his head; even before opening his mouth America already knew the answer.

Shanghai sighs, putting a hand on her head, “But we still shouldn’t trust him; did you get anything out of Koku?”

“No, except for the fact that Teikoku is a sick fuck”, America replies, her stare hardening, “but I’m not here to talk about the Nippon family’s — messed-up — problems. I’m here to let you know about Minguo’s whereabouts.” Her dark green eyes were staring straight at Shanghai; who was as pale as snow.

“Teikoku actually  _ knew _ where that bastard was hiding?” she asks, standing up with a hard look on her face. “He’s told me that he knew where Minguo was, but I never believed him. Can you tell me where he is?”

“He lives in the next city, Gondwana I think”, she replies, “he owns a tea shop thirteen blocks away from the bridge; the name of his tea shop is something called… ‘ _ Lǐzǐhuā Chádiàn _ ’?” She speaks the words slowly and carefully; meanwhile, Shanghai and Imsi cringe and give her weird looks as she speaks. Once she finishes speaking, she notices their stares, and she frowns. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No offense, but your pronunciation is horrible”, Shanghai replies. “Maybe try having lessons with us next time?”

“I have zero time for that shit!” she shouts, “just be grateful I gave you the address, for god’s sake!”

“I am, America”, Shanghai replies, hoisting Imsi up. “Thanks to you, I’m free and I can finally search for Minguo.” Her face thickens, “I can finally confront  _ nàgè húndàn _ about how his cowardly ass got his wife in a brothel.”

America opens her mouth to respond, before a noise of pure frustration echoes from the hallway. “Minguk is a goddamn handful.”

Imsi sighs fondly, “A ball of impulsive energy is what he is.” 

She stands up and turns her back on the pair, saying, “Tell me more about Minguo when you confront him— I want to see more of his crimes and how he witnessed Teikoku’s power.”

She walks out of the door and asks Koku — with an impatient voice — if they can leave; to which Koku responds with a sigh and his typical phrase of “Just a few more minutes.”

Meanwhile, Shanghai’s mind gears are turning; rage, surprise, and confusion reign superior over all other emotions. She can take advantage of this newfound information— threaten Minguo to come back with them, and ask him where the  _ hell _ his daughter was since she doubts he would be able to take care of her anyway. All of the pain, heartbreak, and loss he had given to his wife and everyone else under his territory that had become victims to Teikoku’s iron fist.

She turns to Imsi with a sad but determined look. “We  _ need _ to get to Gondwana; my life depends on it.”

He nods, “I understand, but not now.”

A wave of impatience snaps inside of her, but she calms down; she is not the one who is taking care and supporting her nephew and a refugee from an asshole financially (she wonders how Imsi had not collapsed underneath that stress— one day she finally notices he barely eats), so she swallows down her apprehension to reach Minguo immediately and strangle him.

“When can we go?”

Imsi opens the door, with Minguk and Koku — shockingly — entering in a small-talk, all about music and their favorite genres; it slightly baffles him, especially when Minguk laughs at a — poorly-attempted — joke that Koku had said. Whilst they were socializing, America was staring at the scattered papers scribbled with incomprehensible solutions, scratches, and numbers; her eyes were full of confusion and the dream of actually understanding them.

The sound of another laugh from Minguk catches Imsi’s attention again, as he fixes the table with Shanghai. “You’re really funny.”

Koku smiles at him with awkwardness written in his face. “Thank you. Let’s go, America, Palau’s waiting.” He and America open the doors and make their way out of the house, giving the family one last glance before turning another way.

Imsi turns to Minguk, “So, were you enjoying Koku’s company?”

His nephew looks at him with a bored expression, “Kinda, he has the same taste in music as mine, we had a good talk.” He leans in closer, his dark eyes flitting around like someone was watching him. “Although his crush on America’s more visible this time; and I saw them hold hands when they walked out the door.”

Imsi sighs, “Don’t talk about other people’s relationships when they’re not here, that’s rude.”

He rolls his eyes, fiddling with his chest. “Fine, I’ll stop talking about them.”

“Have you been using your binder  _ properly _ ?” Imsi asks sternly.

“Yeah, I  _ have _ ; you don’t need to reprimand me for using it while sleeping anymore.”

(Shanghai found out about Minguk just a few days ago; when she and Minguk were home alone — since Imsi was working another double-shift — she was searching for the boy for help, when she stumbled upon Minguk seemingly trying out drugs. She was caught off guard at first— she was worried that he had an addiction, but much to both of their relief, Minguk was only taking his testosterone pills.

She still apologized by giving him a set of book recommendations and cooking his favorite dish— since Imsi was absent at times and she could do a few chores around the house to make herself feel useful.)

“I and Shanghai have to talk about something personal”, Imsi replies dismissively, “you can hang out with your boyfriend now.”

He groans, “You called Mongolia a ‘delinquent’ yesterday, and now you’re going to let me five feet near him?”

“Minguk, he still seems like bad news”, Imsi replies. “I’m only letting you spend time with him without my supervision — again — because he’s one of the things that can make you happy; for a while.” Imsi looks away with regret.

His nephew gives him a sympathetic look. “C’mon  _ samchon _ , you make me happy.”

His uncle inhales and exhales; he wipes away something from his eyes, before feigning a smile right in front of his nephew. “I’m sorry about that, I was overreacting. But remember Minguk,  _ neol neomu nado saranghae _ .”

He gives his uncle a small — and forced — laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll dissuade Mongolia from doing any bad shit when I’m there.”

“ _ Eon-eo. _ ”

“I know.” He hugs his uncle, causing an inundation of satisfactory and calming feelings to reside within him, making him smile a little. Minguk breaks the embrace (since he was never really affectionate and would attack out of embarrassment; Inmin however was the more affectionate of the twins) “Well, I’ll go find Mongolia now,  _ saranghae _ !” He waves the pair a goodbye, before walking out of the door and into the sun’s heat and vision.

Following a few minutes of silence and waving at the spot Minguk had run off to, Imsi and Shanghai close the door (in fear of Teikoku finally spotting them), they turn to each other with the same look on their faces; the look of wanting to find someone that had gotten out of their reach one time.

“When do you think we can try to look for Minguo?” Shanghai asks Imsi, tilting her head. “I’m getting impatient.”

“Not while Minguk’s aware of where we’re going”, Imsi rebukes, “we can leave if Minguk doesn’t know where we’re going and if he’ll be gone for the whole day.”

“So when he has school?”

He shrugs— Shanghai has already read his mind. “Yes, but we shouldn’t tell him.”

“Of course I’m not telling a high schooler we’re going out of town for a day!” she snaps, glaring at Imsi, who holds his arms up with a look of surprise (since he did not expect Shanghai to just snap like that) and dejection (because Shanghai had acted aggressively with him). Her face softens immediately after catching a glimpse of Imsi’s sullen and distressed face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“Honestly Shanghai, if you want me in on getting you to track down Minguo, you have to be considerate and think about others”, Imsi replies, scratching his head. “I understand why you would track down the man who indirectly ruined your life, but I need to look out for Minguk too, you know?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, but don’t feel guilty about it anymore.”

“Well,  _ you’re _ the one who told me to be considerate of others’ feelings!” she retorts, feeling the anger and frustration settling to her again. “What am I supposed to do— let my anger go or let it stay?!”

“I think you just need to calm down.”

Shanghai takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down (they both had practiced this, especially whenever she was having a panic attack), but the anger was still there… just out of her reach for now. “Again, I’m sorry about my outburst.”

“It’s alright— you were stressed, that’s all”, he replies calmly (why is he always so calm about confronting everything? It always baffles her), reaching out to her but — on second thought — retracts his hand, only comforting her a distance away.

(It was better that way, to be honest; she jumps at someone trying to touch her, even if it was just a friend or someone she loved.

Admittedly, she hates feeling panic when a hand lingers long on her body.)

“I don’t have the right to be impatient”, she replies with a sigh, “‘sides, you’re my escort.”

He gives her a small smile; she knows it was a fake one since there is no twinkle in his eyes. “I don’t have a car though.”

“Can you rent a car or something? It’d be easier if we have one, seeing as if we use public transportation we’d risk getting me spotted.”

“Maybe I can, but I don’t know if there are nearby car rentals or not”, he replies, “ _ but _ I’ll see.”

“When do you think we’ll leave?”

“...Maybe when Minguk has band practice, this coming Saturday”, he says, “because he’d be out for the whole day, so we can just leave and come back here without him ever noticing something’s wrong.”

“All right, I can wait ‘till Saturday”, she lies; she didn’t  _ want _ to wait, as her thread of patience keeps on getting thinner every moment, but she didn’t want to upset and disappoint Imsi, so she agrees with his plan.

“Do you want some tea? I can brew something for you.”

She smiles, staring out at the windows, wistfully thinking. “Yeah, tea sounds nice.” She lets go of the windowsill and accompanies Imsi with making the beverage.

-

A few days pass like the seasons; it was slow whenever Shanghai waits for the inevitable to come, and sometimes it’s just so fast when she’s only been spending time with Imsi (giving each other soft embraces, just reading or even happily singing together whilst they make lunch) and — trying to — care for Minguk (remind him not to mistreat his body and give him a few good advice to sort the boy out).

If there’s anything she could blame for the revolution of the days, she would blame time itself; it was so brutal and kind to the people she thinks it was a sociopath.

She takes a sip of tea Imsi had brewed just for her (herbal tea, something that can get her to relax), as she overhears the conversation uncle and nephew were both having.

“Now Minguk, remember: do  _ not _ talk to strangers”, Imsi fathers as he double-checks all of Minguk’s pockets— much to the younger boy’s embarrassment. “If they’re persistent, just run away from them; you’re a  _ fast _ runner.”

“I get it  _ samchon _ , I do”, he replies exasperatedly, rolling his eyes and stopping his uncle’s hands from double-checking  _ all _ of his pockets. “I can handle myself.”

“I hope you can.” He stands up straight once again, watching Minguk pat himself down. “Just be safe out there, okay? Will you do that for me?”

“I will  _ samchon _ ;  _ geogjeong hajima _ .” He embraces Imsi as a farewell, and waves goodbye while he traipses down the porch.

After a few minutes of making sure he really was gone, Imsi’s look of passive protectiveness hardens to a look of seriousness; Shanghai meanwhile dons a serious and determined look on her face. She turns to look at Imsi, silently asking him if it was now time for them to move. He nods, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line.

“Are you ready?” he asks her, and she couldn’t help but laugh at how silly he sounds— she has waited her entire life for this.

“I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to search for Minguo”, she replies, excitement evident in her voice as she and Imsi sneak their way to the backyard, away from most public eyes. “And I’ve been waiting for the opportune moment to deck him.”

He gives her a silent look; even if he did not speak, she knew that look on his face: the look of bewilderment being concealed with bemusement and inscrutable reaction. She ought to confess, but she thinks the looks Imsi usually gives her were fond and pleasant (especially when he looks at her the same way other people _ should _ look at her— a normal human being, with her quirks and tastes).

“I rented a car just this morning”, Imsi responds, not acknowledging her dream of finally meeting Minguo once again. “Do you know how to drive?”

She takes a pause from walking before turning back to look at him guiltily, “Uh, no. I mean me and my friends drove around before, but no one really taught me how to drive? What about you?”

Imsi takes a deep breath, “My driver’s license expired a few years ago.”

“Shit.”

He shrugs off-handedly, “I mean, I didn’t need driving licenses or a car when I, Minguk and Inmin were on the run from a murderer and abductor; we didn’t have the chance to get or steal cars.”

“Well then, you’ll just have to wing it— I mean, if  _ you’d want _ someone to drive us to Gondwana, that’s fine, as long as they’re trustworthy and they won’t go poking about our business.”

The two of them finally reach the car, which was resting in their backyard, near the canopy of trees. It was quite old, its red tint dull and fading, a few white marks and scratch marks obvious from a distance away; but it’s adequate in shape and could accommodate the two of them just fine and perfectly.

Imsi climbs in the driver’s seat, pulling out a few keys from his suit pocket. “I guess I’m going back to being a chaperone.” He beams as another jovial memory enters his mind, “Jeguk used to pester me on chaperoning him and Nabi to their dating places; whether it be in a prestigious and exclusive restaurant or in the docks where the boats stayed, I’ll always accompany them, like a bodyguard.”

Shanghai smiles, “Jeguk loved showing off he could enslave his twin just so he could drive ‘em off to their dating spots, hm?”

He laughed fondly and warmly, starting the car— there were a humming and thrumming sound as the engine came to life. “We  _ were _ rich before; and Jeguk wanted to show Nabi how much he could take care of her with all that money.”

Her eyes float downwards, her smile faltering, “But he got disowned because of the scandal, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he did— it was Appa’s biggest mistake and regret”, he mutters about trying to remember what to do first, before settling with pulling the handbrake and putting the lever to reverse. “God, it’s been a  _ long _ while since I drove; forgive me if I bumped into those trees over there.”

“You’re forgiven, as long as you don’t get arrested for expired licenses, I don’t get caught, and Minguo already moved out of the damn place before we even got there.”

They simultaneously shriek as they hear the car’s tires skid onto rough patches of the road, before laughing at how ridiculous they looked while Imsi properly starts driving, the both of his hands on the steering wheel (it was hard and leathery, and Imsi isn’t going back to getting used to it just yet).

“Do you want to raid his home? ‘Cause I remember America saying it was also a tea shop; with her  _ horrid _ pronunciation.” Imsi says in a joking manner, as he drives across the streets. Everything felt different when they were in a cold, metal, and mobile car; whenever he was walking, he could take the time to observe and watch the environment and surroundings happening around him, slowly but in an understanding way. He can just walk over and crane his neck at the thing he wants to look at, but in a moving car, he can only focus on the road and the mirrors that are around the car.

Shanghai leans into the passenger seat, getting comfortable (too bad he can’t slouch; he has to drive). “We’ll bankrupt his business.”

Imsi gives her another one of his faceless looks; conflicted on what reaction he should use to that bit. “Well, not  _ bankrupt _ his business per se, but just…  _ raid _ his supplies if you’re that angry with him.”

“ _ Fine _ .” She groans, clearly not wanting to spare the man. “He’s lucky I brought you to stop me from making rash decisions.”

“Hey, we need to be careful, even if you know him”, Imsi replies. “You mention he used to be a mafia boss or something?”

“Yeah, he was dangerous and unstable back in the days; especially when he and his brother — Renmin — decided to create a divide in the mob—” She gets pulled forward as Imsi suddenly steps on the breaks. “What was that Imsi?!”

“I’m so sorry”, Imsi replies between big breaths, his face paler than before, his irises shrinking with panic. “It’s just- the name — Renmin — it was  _ so _ familiar.”

She raises a brow at him, “How?”

Imsi takes a few more deep breaths, trying to snap himself out of it. “Inmin… he mentioned a man named ‘Renmin’ and ‘Soviet Union’; I suspect that they were the leaders of the mob he had joined and left us.”

“Oh, yeah, Soviet; that’s Renmin’s boyfriend”, Shanghai explains with a simple wave of the hand, her face morphing to one of someone holding a grudge. “He’s one of the reasons why everything went to shit, along with Teikoku appearing and Qing dying.”

“‘Qing’, yeah that name sounds familiar too.” Imsi keeps on driving, trying to control the sweat that is being formed in his body. “Appa used to curse his name, and he really hated that man.”

“Qing’s Minguo and Renmin’s dad; they’re the youngest out of the womanizer’s dozen kids. I think their mom was Huaxia, who was Ming’s kid? Yeah, it’s hard to keep track of Qing’s children.”

“God, imagine having  _ that _ many kids”, Imsi says in a dreamlike state, shaking his head. “How does he even do it?”

She shrugs, “I don’t even know, but when he died, you should’ve been there; all of his children wanted his inheritance and riches. It was a damn mess.”

“You can say that again.” He chuckles as he carefully makes it towards the traffic; he doesn’t even  _ remember _ a few rules on the road whilst driving. His face becomes serious again, his smile fading. “So, during the confusion, you got abducted by Teikoku?”

She nods, fists clenching and unclenching. “Yeah; I’d rather  _ die _ than let  _ him _ touch me again.”

He gives her a downcast look, stopping at a red traffic sign. “I’m sorry, but I’ll make sure Teikoku  _ never _ finds you again.”

“You don’t have to do that for me, but I hope he doesn’t manage to locate where I am.”

“I hope so too.” He laments as he steps on the gas once the red light turns green. “What’s Minguo like? Apart from what you’ve told me about.”

She thinks for a moment, before letting loose a hum and a sadder look on her face. “He was a good person, I guess; well he was not the most virtuous or morally right man, but he was… okay in my books, for a while. Then he got out of control and everything went to shit; when Renmin left and Teikoku managed to invade and take our territories, in particular.”

“Damn, what a nice man”, he replies sarcastically, and Shanghai playfully punches him, snickering. “Come on, he sounded like a nice guy back then.”

“He gouged out one of Renmin’s eyes.”

His face changes to a look of shock. “Oh; hardly a decent man then.”

She shrugs with a neutral face. “He was somewhat perpetual and balanced whenever he’s with Nanjing— mainly with her unborn child.”

“He had a daughter, didn’t he?”

“He did, but I doubt she would be with him, and if she was, I distrust him being a good father.”

“Well, we’ll never truly have knowledge of that unless we confront it head-on.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

She goes back to staring at the streets of Pangea; she is still in shock that she had been cooped up in that horrible and murky dark place for a decade. The woman loathes how time seems to have made her think she had been suffering years in misery and anguish, but it had only been ten long years of silently enduring the pain. She watches through the car’s windows people doing their day-to-day life, so casual and uneventful, and she wished that she was just doing her own business rather than going on a hunt to find Minguo.

-

They reach Gondwana just an hour afternoon; they had a few run-ins with traffic jams and Imsi suddenly stepping on the breaks like it’s the end of the world (they had caught the attention of a police officer, but he was stopped from approaching their vehicle by another of his colleague who somehow got tangled on a jump rope). The bridge was one of the trickiest things Imsi had ever driven— he was not fond of heights, and he didn’t want to consider the idea of the old thing collapsing and him and Shanghai falling to the rich blue water below.

“Your hands are shaking”, Shanghai states, staring at his trembling hands, knuckle-white on the steering wheel.

“I don’t enjoy heights”, he confesses, trying not to look sideways at any given time; he might have a heart attack in his tender age.

“Why?”

“They’re frightening; almost as frightening as intercourse.” He attempts at a joke, and Shanghai laughs.

“Intercourse is  _ very _ frightening”, she titters.

“Guess I made the apt choice to loathe sex”, he replies — unconsciously — uncurling his fingers and relaxing his hands as he feels himself become more comfortable. “I could never understand why people would want to do something as messy as that. In my opinion.”

“Some people might not be able to share the same opinion about what you think of sex”, she muses, uncurling her legs to a more comfortable position. “Some people think it’s the best thing in the world, some are less vocal about their opinions and some loathe sex like you.”

“I don’t  _ loathe _ sex, I just think it’s dirty and sloppy.”

“I have mixed opinions on sex for a few years now.” Her face clouds over, and she slouches on her passenger seat; it must be a cue for another serious conversation. Not that Imsi is complaining, since he is driving on a literal death trap that might collapse any minute (but he diverts his attention to smaller, minuscule things, such as how his fingers are cramping under the weight of the steering wheel).

“I’ve used sex as a coping mechanism for years now”, she continues, her gaze shying away from Imsi, ashamed. “The first time I was… well…” She instinctively hugs herself; he wants to reach out to her but he can’t remove his eyes on the road just yet. “I felt like a part of me died; I could  _ defend myself _ from Teikoku. Like I was weak and fragile and frail, but I’m  _ not _ ! I never was.”

Imsi’s mind runs for a mile, trying to find words of comfort. “You’re strong, everyone is— we all have different definitions of it.”

“Well, my definition of being strong is being able to kill or hurt someone who tries to do  _ that _ with you— but I fucking failed.” She buries her head on her lap.

“You don’t have to blame yourself for not being able to handle him”, Imsi replies with concern in his voice.

“So I  _ let _ him fuck me ‘till I fall unconscious?” she blasts, blazing with uproar, her brows creased. “Never in a million years would I let him do that to me!”

“I didn’t mean it in that way”, Imsi replies softly. “I mean… you shouldn’t blame yourself for not being able to do anything. It wasn’t your fault— it was Teikoku’s.”

“I blamed myself for everything”, Shanghai croaks, sniffling and shivering, “for getting Nanjing abducted, for getting myself abducted, for acting defenseless when Teikoku was tying me up. I fought back, but he managed to subdue me. I tried so hard to fight him, so hard to hit or knock him out or even untie myself from the bed… but it was no use.”

Imsi opens his mouth but closes it; he fears he will say something insensitive and careless.

Shanghai drones on, “I thought sex was a way to show your partner how much you love them.”

“It is”, Imsi responds, nodding; he may think intercourse is repulsive, but he can understand why some would enjoy it. “Sex is for love, it should never be used as a weapon.”

“I’m so humiliated and ashamed.”

“I know; but we can try and make you see that it was never your fault in the first place.”

“It was always my fault.”

“I don’t believe you should take the blame for it.”

She gives him a torn look, “You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to act all sad and pitying in front of you.”

“Well, in my point-of-view, that’s because you’re blameless; that wasn’t your fault, it never was.”

She releases a choked cry, burying her face even deeper in her hands; Imsi just lets himself drive since he is unsure of what to say that may comfort her. He returns his gaze to the road, relieved that they made it past the bridge in one piece — he was close to hyperventilating when he accidentally glimpses at the blue river below them — and quickly navigates to the main road.

He hears a sniffle beside him, but he only speeds up the car, wanting to give Shanghai comfort with the thought of seeing — and punching — Minguo again.

They spend the rest of the car ride in silence.

-

“ _ Shūshu _ , I’m hungry”, Liaoning whines while tugging — an irritated — Renmin’s arms. “Can we make a stop at the tea shop again? I really like their food  _ and _ drinks!”

Renmin heaves an exhausted sigh as he pulls his dark hair back; no wonder why Manchukuo looked like he had aged a century, his children were  _ unbearable _ , just for the first few days. They were like hungry birds; they wouldn’t stop pestering and asking for food even if they had just eaten a minute ago. To be frank, his nephews are walking so that his — limited — money and financial support could run.

He turns back to — his  _ brother’s _ — the tea shop, humble and modest; not the way Minguo would go at all.

(An old memory runs through his mind whenever he sees Minguo’s tea shop; of a younger version of the two, just playing in the vast fields that used to populate the city, all before buildings came crashing down and ruined the green and lengthy fields. Renmin chuckles as he picks a few flowers to give to his mother, while Minguo watches him whilst studying.

“I want to be an owner of a tea shop one day”, his older brother blurts out, making Renmin look at him with confusion and curiosity, so he continues. “I want to live a long and happy life, away from drama or sadness or anything that could wear me down.” He smiles as Renmin makes his way up the hill to give him the flowers he had earned for the day, “And I want  _ you _ to succeed me in making the best tea in the city.”

He lived his dream; Renmin did not.)

He can feel the spite growing inside him, a volcano trying to erupt inside of his body and lava spitting on his veins, replacing blood with hot and boiling lava. He shuts his eyes and turns his back to his — problem — nephews, just standing around, staring and pointing at the smallest things that fascinate them (like that dirty car over there that requires washing, or that tattooed woman over there; Renmin reprimanded them for that).

“Can we go to another restaurant? Y’know, without a blind guy at the counter making things harder than it has to be?” he suggests passive-aggressively, forcing a smile on his face.

Jilin gapes at him, an outraged and astounded look on his face, “ _ Shūshu _ ! Don’t judge a guy just ‘cause they are visually impaired!”

“You’ve been staring and gawking at a woman who has tattoos!” he argues back, sputtering at the thought of losing an argument to a child.

“Yeah that was bad, but what you’re doing is also bad too!” Heilongjiang speaks up, still toying with that action figurine he found on the side of the road (Renmin told him to put it back down but he protects his new toy by hugging it possessively). “Bad  _ shūshu _ !” Both of his brothers agree with scolding their uncle, much to the uncle’s embarrassment.

“Fine, fine”, he gives in; he can feel his pride being shaken to the core. “We can order food from that shop—” The children exude a spontaneous cheer, “ _ but _ we’re not eating there.” In which the kids let out a groan and a raspberry to their caretaker. “Good, we’re all in agreement, let’s g—” He stops walking, his face morphing to one of shock and surprise.

Much to his nephews’ surprise and astonishment, he runs like he was the embodiment of wind himself, his — neatly combed — hair flying out from its restraints and letting his hair run wild, catching up to whatever he saw in his vision. With a heaving chest and tired legs, he puts a hand on the man’s arm; which unsurprisingly stuns said man to turn his head toward him (the kids catch up to him eventually, all breathless).

Subsequently, the man’s beguiled face changes to recognition— they both know each other before; they have history. Although they had not exchanged words when he was there to come to pick Inmin up and move him to their new home, he can already sense that the man holds a grudge for him. Inmin’s uncle roughly pushes him away, making Renmin stumble until he manages to find himself on equal footing.

“I remember  _ you _ !” Imsi shouts, causing a few people to look their way before minding their own business. “You took my  _ joka _ away from me;  _ eotteohge dangsin-i hal su _ !”

Renmin sighs— he has gotten a lot of complaints about how their child chose them over their original family, and frankly, he has no time for arguing with them. “Hey old man, it isn’t my fault Inmin liked it in their place more than he did in your house!”

“‘ _ Old man _ ’?! I’m in my mid-thirties you—”

A familiar woman runs outside of the tea shop Renmin was going to, with a panicked expression on her face. “Imsi, what’s wro— oh my god.” She gapes at Renmin, and the feeling was mutual; it’s been a decade since they last saw each other. Age had touched Shanghai in brutal ways, looking at her now— she had dark circles underneath her eyes, bony hands, a skinny physique, wrinkles, and a few strands of grey hairs.

Renmin shakes his head, expression a mixture of surprise and sadness. “I thought you were dead.”

Shanghai chuckles, tucking a stray strand of hair back to place. “Life won’t kill me— not yet. But I feel like I’m dead inside, however.” Her companion gives her a worried look, but she brushes him aside. “For the past ten years, I’ve turned to one of Teikoku’s toys, for his and others’ enjoyment.”

“Oh.”

“And who are these little boys here?” She gestures to his nephews huddling behind Renmin. “You’re too young to take care of them.”

He frowns, offended by that remark. “They’re Manchukuo’s kids, I took them to my care after my brother died.”

“Wait a minute— I remembered Manchukuo being talked about in the news and papers”, Imsi cuts in, “he was murdered by a—”

“Shut up, old man”, Renmin snarls, looking at the kids cautiously— luckily enough they were minding their own business, admiring the shop’s handicraft. “I took them into my care, that’s all you need to know.” He worries about whether Shanghai can see through his bullshit; ever since he was a child he can never pass a lie without her tracking it.

She tilts her head, clearly not buying it. “I see.”

“What are you doing here? And how did you escape  _ Teikoku _ ?”

“Well, I heard from a police officer that Minguo had been living here for a decade”, she replies, “and I wanted to talk to him. Have you?”

“Eh… not really.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t walked up to him and slapped the shit out of him.”

“Shanghai, language.” Imsi sighs, approaching the children as his paternal instincts skyrockets.

“By the way, why aren’t you with your loving boyfriend this time? And why take Manchukuo’s kids?”

Renmin’s face falls, “Me and Sul-  _ Soviet _ … we broke up.”

Her face morphs to one of understanding. “Oh. As I said, nothing lasts forever, Renmin; sometimes you’ll finally get to see that they’re a douche underneath that unconditional — and unnecessary — love for you.”

“Yeah well, he  _ is _ a douche.”

“Oh wow”, Shanghai responds sarcastically, “when did you ever find out?”

“Since I found out he’d been cheating on me with a fifteen-year-old girl”, he snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, he’d been going at her behind my back for a few months; Inmin managed to tell me indirectly.”

“...Oh.” She doesn’t know what should the most appropriate emotion be; glee at the fact that his and Soviet’s long-lasting relationship abruptly came to an end, or pity because Renmin had been played by someone he trusted.

He looks vulnerable now; she reminisces the time when Renmin wore his heart on his sleeve, crying his heart out at the simplest of things (a dead cat, a broken window, a scary movie). Things were so simple back then— she wondered how they had got into this mess.

“I trusted and loved him, for ten years, and then he went behind my back because he wanted a minor all to himself”, Renmin croaks, “I loved him and thought he was a good person, even after the atrocities he had done— after all, I did my fair share of horrible shit too, so we were meant to be. But  _ then _ he took things too far by dating a naive girl; I don’t love him anymore.”

“It’s gonna be hard to move on, though.” She attempts at being sympathetic.

“Yeah, do you know how many times I’ve called out to Soviet the past few days I’ve been here?” He sighs, before entering the tea shop, “Maybe punching my now-blind brother can make me feel better.”

Shanghai blinks, agog, “Minguo’s  _ blind _ ?!”

“Yeah, apparently for a while now— you should go check him out.” He vanishes inside the tea shop and is soon followed by Shanghai and the others.

-

Minguo’s shop was quite simplistic in terms of style and structure; hard and dark wood with porcelain windows and ivory sliding doors. But it lures its customers in with a sense of security and homeliness— its simplicity and plainness luring in customers from everywhere and beyond. The smell of brewing tea around the shop also calms Shanghai’s nerves down; she pauses once she enters the shop, the smell of warm and boiling drinks massaging her temples and easing her veins.

She closes her eyes in wonder, forgetting for a moment where she was and why she was in such a tranquil setting.

Renmin decides it would be the perfect time for him to point at a lone man with dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes greeting one of his customers. “That’s Minguo, right over there.”

And the tranquil environment shatters like glass when her eyes land on him; time has also taken a toll on the man— he was still young, but he looked so old seeing him again. She bites her lip and clenches her fist, feeling the anger and suffering that she had endured all the while he managed to maintain a happier and blissful life, away from his old living conditions. Her resentment mingles with her anger and frustration; and before the others could stop her she was making her way to the counter, bumping heads and shoulders at the customers still piling at the counter (her train of thought believes that he’s not worth the fame his tea shop has gained).

When she makes it to the counter — with several customers glaring and swearing behind her back — Minguo smiles at her, although she doubts he could see the infuriated and angry woman in front of him.

“May I help you?” he asks in that deep and firm voice of his; but the rough and hard tone of his voice was replaced with a kinder and milder tone. Frankly, it doesn’t soothe Shanghai as a ton of memories run down her mind, blocking out all of her intellect and ability to make this situation private.

Gritting her teeth, she raises her hand and slaps Minguo hard in the face (as hard as the way Teikoku or other clients had slapped her); she hears complete silence around her and the sound of skin being hit. Opening her eyes, she glares at Minguo blankly staring into nothing; his sunglasses dropped somewhere to the floors. Her eyes widened slightly in shock and repulse at the sight of his face— the bridge of his nose all the way to his forehead had harsh boils and burns, and his eyes were milky white.

But she regains her footing and courage, standing tall as Minguo tries to stand straight. “I can see what you’ve turned into in the past few years; you’ve become weak and ignorant.”

Her former ally (if that’s what she calls him) stares straight ahead. “T-that v-voice… are you who I think you are?”

Renmin steps up and tilts his head at the sight of Minguo still looking startled. “Wow, I didn’t know that blowing up that boiler would damage  _ you _ more than Teikoku.”

“I’ve been aware that you had been buying tea from my shop for a while”, his older brother replies, furrowing his brows. “You were never able to be conspicuous, nor cautious.”

His younger brother glares at Minguo, crossing his arms. “And you can’t discern danger from safety.”

“We want to talk to you”, Shanghai speaks up, reaching over the counter and grabbing a fistful of his shirt, startling him (she revels at the absolute power she emits right now). “ _ Alone _ .”

Minguo takes a huge breath, before telling his employees that he’ll be out for the rest of the day due to ‘family business’ (she wants to hit him again following that phrase— he doesn’t deserve to be called her family), before beckoning them beyond the counter, picking up his fallen sunglasses — with a few instances of struggling — and afterward picks up a cane on a hanging rack before navigating his way up the steps.

She senses a tap on her shoulder; she whips her head to identify Imsi giving her a solicitous expression. “I wished you had hit Minguo in a less public place.”

The woman he loves shrugs, leaning into him to get a whiff of his cologne. “The more humiliated he is the better; and I’ve been planning on hitting him with his cane repeatedly since I saw it.”

“I’m blind, not deaf, and I can hear your whispering from above here”, Minguo speaks up.

“Funny how you’re not deaf just yet”, Renmin scoffs, trying to silence the children from asking questions with a glare.

“Funny how you’re still alive”, Minguo rebukes, making his way to a room upstairs, opening the door. “Quick, inside, before she hears the commotion.”

“‘She’?” Shanghai repeats, looking around, “who’s  _ ‘she’ _ ?”

“And keep your children distracted”, he remarks at Renmin, who groans before talking to his nephews about what is happening this time individually. “Because I believe this will become a sore and substantial topic.”

“Hell yes, it is.” Shanghai walks in the room, followed by a hesitant Imsi (who doesn’t even have to see brutality and cruelty in front of him) and a resentful Renmin.

Minguo takes a seat at the corner with all the books (she marvels at how he can read unless it was all in Braille), a worried expression on his face. “Shanghai, where’s Nanjing? Is she okay? Is she alright and safe? Is she happy?”

Shanghai can feel pure, uncontrolled rage bubbling up in her again; she clenches her fist before turning to Imsi, a look of fierceness in her eyes. “Go outside, play with Renmin’s nephews; you don’t want to see this.” She looks back at Minguo, still worried about his wife’s safety and wellbeing. How  _ dare _ he ask her that question after just abandoning his so-called ‘love of his life’ to Teikoku? Why was he worried about her  _ now _ ?

After hearing the door close (and Renmin’s muttering regarding the fact that Imsi’s paternal skills are so useful for babysitting), she punches a caught off guard Minguo, toppling him to the floor.

“ _ How dare you _ ”, she snarls, scorn all over her face, taking the cane out of his hands before hitting him with it. “You’re worried about her NOW?! After LEAVING her in the hands of TEIKOKU?! After ABANDONING HER?!”

“I-I didn’t- I didn’t mean to  _ abandon _ her—” he sputters between hits, shielding himself from the cane beating down on him, feeling pain in every part of his body, especially his arms. “I-I was going to try and— and rescue her! I swear Shanghai!”

“Well, your ‘promise’ wasn’t enough to save her from going through whatever state she is in NOW!” she bellows, gritting her teeth, tears blurring her vision as she pummels Minguo with his cane repeatedly. “God, I  _ LEFT _ her in that damned place! This is ALL YOUR FAULT!”

She acknowledges the door opening, but she did not halt her assault on Minguo, before a young and small voice interrupting the air in the room.

A young girl’s head peeks in the room, her chocolate brown eyes glinting with childish innocence. “ _ Bàba _ ? That man with the boys told me you’re busy right now, but I heard screaming and shouting and I have to run ‘cause even though I liked those new friends of mine, but not seeing you worries me.” She turns to Shanghai, still holding the cane; the young girl enters the room, looking at her with confusion and fear. “Excuse me, miss? W-why are you hitting my  _ bàba _ with his cane? Are you one of those bad people he talked to me about?”

Renmin scoffs, possessing the ineptitude of not reading situations. “Kid,  _ your dad’s _ the bad guy.” He stops smiling, his eyes widening in understanding. “Oh my god, you’re—”

“Nanjing’s daughter.” She drops the cane from her hands, her eyes still glued to the young girl; she carefully takes a few steps forward, her vision fluctuating to what she remembered of her friend’s appearance and this little girl right in front of her. She had dark brown hair and eyes, eyes big, full of virtue, and propriety. She was small yet slightly chubby, clad in a dress with a bow on her hair to top it all off.

She kneels in front of the confused girl, eyes shining with recognition, and found. She gingerly placed a hand on her shoulders, and lucky enough — or the child was still puzzled — she did not push away from her. “Do you remember me, sweetheart? I’m your  _ gūmā _ .”

“And  _ I’m _ your  _ shūshu _ ”, Renmin casually quips while helping his brother up (she’ll have to ask him later why he’d do that; and she doesn’t suspect it was kindness and pity at all).

She tilts her head, her expression still confused, then stares at her father. “ _ Bàba _ , you told me we have no family left.” Her expression changes to one of hurt. “Were you lying then,  _ bàba _ ?”

“No,  _ wŏ de bǎobèi _ , I didn’t mean to lie to you back then”, Minguo replies gently and carefully, taking the fallen cane, before navigating his way to his daughter. He mindfully places a hand on the little girl’s face, crestfallen and sad. “I didn’t think I had a family left; except for you, Taiwan.”

“B-But— they say they’re my uncle and aunt”, she says, referring to Renmin and Shanghai, “Is it true?”

He nods, “It is true, they’re your family.”

“Oh my god, you look so much like your mother”, Shanghai whispers, catching Taiwan’s attention again. “You have her eyes and hair; you look so beautiful.” Just then, her memories start to kick in overdrive, as her mind returns to a decade or so before.

-

_ “Are you alright, Nanjing?” her voice was low and quiet; almost as quiet as the crickets that were chirping just outside the house. She was carrying a glass of water, trying not to exacerbate her already depleted friend. _

_ The woman lying on the bed tried for a smile, and the moon should be jealous of it. “I’m okay; thanks for being there to assist me when I gave birth to my baby.” _

_ She chuckled, lending the woman her water, “Well, what am I supposed to do? Faint like what your spineless husband did?” _

_ Nanjing laughed _ —  _ yet it was analogous to a croak, demonstrating how weak she still was. “Don’t talk about my husband that way.” She cradled the baby in her arms, rocking her back and forth. It made Shanghai wish for a child, but she knew she won’t be able to take care of one. “Would you like to hold her?” _

_ “What?” She asked, dumbfounded. “But what if I drop her?” _

_ “You won’t _ —  _ but you’d drop Minguo.” _

_ She clicked her tongue, taking the baby in a bundle from her friend’s arms. “She’s… light.” _

_ “Every newborn is.” _

_ “She looks a lot like you, though.” She chuckled as Taiwan fussed in her arms. “Same hair and eyes, like her  _ **_ māmā _ ** _.” _

_ “You flatter me.” _

_ If only they knew what was about to happen that night. _

-

“My  _ māmā’s  _ dead”, the girl answers straightforwardly, catching Shanghai by surprise and breaking her free from those painful memories. “My  _ bàba _ told me she died after she was born.”

The young woman glares at Minguo — not like he can see it — with a burning intensity. “Is that so?” She gives her niece another warm look, “Your mother is alive, sweetie, we can come and see her now—”

Taiwan’s eyes widen with hope. “We  _ can _ ?”

She nods, smiling. “Of course we can—”

“Listen, I apologize for lying to Taiwan about you”, Minguo cuts in, his gaze firm and determined. “But I and Taiwan are not going back to Pangea.”

Her face hardens, glaring at her former brother-in-law (still shocking she’d consider him as her friend’s groom when he abandoned her). “Excuse me? Why not?”

“There are bad people there”, Taiwan answers for her father, “bad people that want  _ bàba _ to die. Bad people that will hurt me if  _ bàba _ isn’t there to help me.”

Shanghai shakes her head, her eyes glinting. “The city your father came from was full of bad people, you aren’t wrong; but it’s full of good people too.”

“A city can’t be ‘ _ full _ ’ of both people of good and bad at once”, Taiwan quips; she appears to have both of her parents’ intellect, which makes Shanghai smile fondly, remembering the times she and Nanjing had dumped information they have gathered from the dozen books they’ve read ever since breaking and entering a library.

“Your dad’s bad”, Renmin replies bluntly, “worst person ever and you’ve been leaving with him.”

She whips her head to her uncle. “My dad’s not bad! He protects me and takes care of me even when he’s stressed!”

“ _ Renmin _ ”, Minguo begins, his voice lower and harder; the old tone in his voice that he had used way back when. “Shut your mouth.”

His younger brother’s hand forms a fist, “Why should I listen to you? You  _ fled _ Pangea after losing to Teikoku! You’re a fucking  _ coward _ .”

“I know what I am”, Minguo shoots back, but there was no more fire nor force in his words that he had uttered. “And I did it for my daughter.”

“You ‘did it for your daughter’?!” Shanghai repeats, appalled. “She doesn’t even fucking know who  _ I _ am! Who her mother is!”

“I was trying my best to protect her!” he rebukes, “I’m  _ not _ letting more of my loved ones die again.”

“By  _ sheltering _ her and making her unaware?!” she takes Taiwan by surprise by pulling her towards her aunt by the shoulder, causing the young girl to gasp, startled by the touch. “She needs to learn the truth about her family!”

“We don’t  _ have _ to go back!” Minguo bites back. “We don’t have to go back to that hellish place. I want nothing to do with it.”

“So basically, after Teikoku managed to burn and blind you, you’ve become weak and fearful of going back?” Renmin shakes his head. “I thought you were better than that.”

“You’re no better than me, so stop acting all high-and-mighty.”

Shanghai opens her mouth, but she is silenced by someone tugging on her sleeve repeatedly. She lowers her head to find Taiwan shaking slightly and looking at her with scared eyes.

“Please let me go”, she says in that peculiarly low and unreactive voice. “I don’t like being touched, even if it’s by my family.”

“You’re  _ touching _ Taiwan?” Minguo replies, calmer this time, but his firm grip on the cane says otherwise. “Just… stop touching her. Please. If you love her you’d stop doing that.”

She lifts her hands off Taiwan, to the girl’s relief. “I stopped touching her.”

“Did she, Taiwan?”

“Yes,  _ bàba _ .”

“Good. Taiwan, be a dear and leave me and the adults in the room. Why don’t you go play with your new friends?”

“But  _ bàba _ , it’s three in the afternoon; which means I need to do my homework, and you always help me.”

“Sweetheart”, Minguo starts, his tone fatherly and warm, “I know you hate it when your routine changes, but I need to get a few things done, alright? Now go have fun with your new friends.”

“They’ll think I’m weird… like everyone else”, she shifts her weight to one foot.

“They won’t, sweetheart.”

She stares at the floor, feeling like staring at its patterns would help her overcome her fears and shyness. “Okay,  _ wǒ ài nǐ _ .”

“ _ Wǒ yĕ ài nǐ _ .” He smiles hearing the door open; once he hears the sound of the door closing, the smile falls off of his face, back into his grim expression. “My daughter—”

“ _ Nanjing’s _ daughter”, Shanghai abruptly corrects.

“... _ Our _ daughter”, Minguo sarcastically rectifies, “has a few issues with touching and loud noises; just don’t touch her without permission or shout when she’s close to you. She gets overwhelmed by those.”

She sighs, “I'm sorry.”

“Okay.”

“How did you even escape the debris in the ship?” Renmin asks out loud, trying to break the tension in the room. “Especially with your eyes all messed up.”

“I  _ didn’t _ want to be saved at first”, he mutters, taking a seat again, “I wanted to die, right there and then; but I didn’t.”

“Who saved you?” Shanghai asks.

“Everything looked so fucked, when I opened my eyes for the first time since that boiler explosion”, he explains with an intake of his breath. “Everywhere I look, it’s just… colorful and uneventful blobs; even when I felt the smoldering heat in every inch of my body, I couldn’t see a damn thing.”

“But did anyone save you?”

Minguo gives a slight pause, trying to recall what had happened that fateful night, before affirming their assumptions. “Yes— but I wasn’t able to identify them.”

“Did they speak?”

“One word: ‘move’. Their voice was low and soft — I had to strain to hear it — but they helped me with navigating the entire city before pushing me in a car; with my daughter.”

“Wait— they had  _ Taiwan _ in the car?” Shanghai repeats, aghast.

“It’s how she survived the fire Teikoku had allegedly set in my home.”

“Which  _ he did _ .” She rolls her eyes.

“Look, you told me to set the bomb in the boiler so it can explode”, Renmin breaks in, “and you were supposed to lock Teikoku in there— how come you didn’t make it out in time?”

His brother puts his face to his hands. “Teikoku commented about our mother; he said so much crap about her and how he didn’t get to ‘taste’ her, that we extended our fight until he told me he knew that Renmin put a bomb on the boiler. Then afterward he just made a run for it, while I was still in shock and angry because of what he said about my mother— then everything burst into flames.”

“What did he say?” Renmin asks, leaning in from his chair, face full of anger and hatred. “What did that monster say about our mother?”

Minguo takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down despite being irked that he had brought it up. “He told me… how he had admired her from afar, how she looked like his ideal wife, how she looked so pretty that he doesn’t even believe that we were her sons. That he was so disappointed she died before he got a taste of her; he wanted to touch her and make her scream as loud as she can, to take advantage of her and…” He exhales shakily, “wanted to get her pregnant.”

Silence enters the room; but this silence is not as welcome as it should be. It was a silence that befalls on situations like this whenever someone drops such a grave and significant situation. In these kinds of circumstances where a person would mention Minguo and Renmin's late mother, the former would become angry and furious and would try to hurt the person who’d dare mention her, while Renmin would freeze up and start crying.

However in this incident, their roles were reversed; Minguo’s head is hung low as his train of thought replays the entire traumatic memory in his mind, his face in his hands as he shakes, perhaps shedding tears. In the meantime, Renmin was seething in his chair, his fists clenched and his teeth gritting.

“If I see that asshole again”, Renmin hisses, his golden eyes burning, “I will _cut his dick off_ .”

“Sick fuck…” Shanghai muses, glaring at the floors, blaming its eccentric pattern. She looks up at Minguo, still pensive. “I’m sorry for the way Teikoku treated the subject of your mother lightly, but speaking of mothers…” Her brows furrow. “Come back to Pangea, we can rescue Nanjing and give Taiwan a family. A  _ real _ family.”

He lifts his head, “I’m sorry Shanghai, but I have to say no.”

“Still a ‘ _ no _ ’?!” Shanghai stands, approaching the man with a furious expression. After everything she and Nanjing had been through, this man ran away from the city just to start a new and peaceful life, ignorant of what they had gone through, still didn’t  _ want _ to rescue someone he had loved in his entire life? “You are the most cowardly man I have ever met.”

“I know, but this is all to protect Taiwan.”

“Bullshit!”

“How did you know where I live?” he demands.

“A-A police officer told us about your whereabouts, but she found it out from Teikoku’s—”

“I  _ knew it _ !” He shouts. “That asshole’s been keeping track of me ever since I heard someone hear talk about Teikoku… about four months ago. I  _ can’t _ go back, even if he managed to know about my current location. I  _ need _ to protect Taiwan, and this is her only home now. If she becomes aware of what’s happening, she’ll cease to function.”

“Sounds like you’re sheltering her from the real world”, Renmin states. “Which will bite you in the ass one day.”

“I’m not ‘sheltering’ her!” Minguo snaps, “I’m trying to keep her in check, keep her calm and collected while the entire world goes to shit!” He sighs. “I found a new life here, and I’d like for it to be that way. I want a life away from all my past mistakes, from my regrets and shame. I have a daughter now, and I want to raise her right. Now please, leave us alone.”

She stands, tears welling. “She’s Nanjing’s daughter too.”

Minguo bites his lip, hesitant. “I know, but she would love and appreciate it if I keep our daughter safe— dead or alive.”

She shakes her head, standing; she hasn’t given up on life, not yet, but the man in front of her had, all for the sake of protecting his daughter, covering her eyes to see no evil, believing that life wasn’t so tangled up with poisonous vines or you have to keep climbing higher to not slip and fall into the bottomless ravine waiting to swallow you whole. She struggles to climb, even accidentally injuring herself countless times with those thorny vines; all the while Minguo falls into the depths of the abyss.

“You’ve changed”, she says, “from that hot-tempered brute to a spineless man.”

“For the better, in my opinion.” He shakes his head. “I can’t be the same person I was all those years ago; I have to change for my daughter.”

“And yet you  _ won’t _ let her see her own mother”, Shanghai replies acidly. “You died that day in the boiler— and you were replaced by someone I don’t even know.”

“Better to keep everyone I used to know away from me”, he snaps back. “Just leave me alone.”

“ _ Fine _ , if that’s what you want”, Shanghai replies, opening the door. “I won’t bother you ever again.”

“ _ Good _ ”, he hisses, before his face softens. “I actually enjoyed your company; I never had any other guests apart from my employees or customers, or even my daughter.”

“Sounds like your daughter needs a friend”, Renmin states with a yawn, “does she even have any friends?”

“No”, his brother sighs, “she has poor social skills and she’d rather study about how interaction with others works… or read books about dinosaurs; she likes those.”

Renmin shrugs, “Guess Manchukuo’s kids have to do.”

“Wait, those are  _ Manchukuo’s _ children? How did you even—”

“Long story”, his younger brother replies offhandedly, “I’ll tell you later, because you might just chant ‘I told you so’ over and over again.”

“I’ll leave now”, Shanghai speaks up, “but… if you ever want to go back, Minguo, call me.” She slides a piece of paper with Imsi’s address. “But keep that a secret.”

“I will, and I hope it won’t come to this”, he says, and Shanghai closes the door behind them.

-

Shanghai was frowning the entire trip home, from what Imsi had observed while — meticulously — driving down the road, trying to read the traffic signs spread around the highway, bypassing other cars whilst attempting to compose himself when merging with the traffic (because you’ll never know when an unsuspecting truck or humongous vehicle will crash onto your dainty and rented car).

Whenever he turns to her, with her face scrunched up in a frown and her arms crossed, he would frown slightly or give her worrying glances. He was not used to her being so upset, but she has the right to be; who knew this ‘Minguo’ man was such a blazing coward. He wants to comfort her, but he doesn’t know  _ how _ to, except for quoting a few excerpts from books she liked (they’d drink their cups of tea while monologuing about their favorite book quotes).

He didn’t want to worry or aggravate her feelings any further, but he brainstorms and cultivates the ideas growing in his head, to the betterment of Shanghai’s feelings.

_ Or perhaps she just wants to be alone with her feelings _ , Imsi thinks to himself, sighing.

“I hate him”, Shanghai breaks the cold silence in the car, “I fucking hate him.”

“I know Shanghai”, Imsi says with a tone of exasperation in his voice, “but in my opinion, he seems to be a pretty swell guy.”

“That’s what he wants you to think”, she replies, teeth gritted; she stares out of the window, her eyes trained on the nightlights that are planted in the highway (possibly missing the time where she had been out in the road and not cooped up in that damn brothel). “But he’ll leave a good impression on you until he wraps himself around your head— that’s how Nanjing fell in love with him.”

“I see”, Imsi responds slowly, raising a brow, “his brother, however, is a bastard in my book.”

“He is; the both of them are, that’s why they’re so similar.” She sighs, her eyes inclined upwards, “The stars and moon are so beautiful, I wish I can stargaze today.”

Her words gave Imsi a brilliant idea. A smile climbs upon his face as he quickly gives insight on those lines; he recalls that there was a hill near Pangea which was  _ perfect _ for stargazing (he only remembered this because he used to escort Nabi and Jeguk there; and would find them making out). It would be the ideal location for Shanghai to calm down.

“Hey, I need your permission for me to do this though”, Imsi says.

“What?”

“I was hoping… we could take a detour and stargaze in a hill I used to climb?”

She perks up at that— but not in a positive way, with her eyes wide with fear and danger. “H-hill?”

“Look, I know this sounds bad”, he asserts gently, “but do you have something you could use as a weapon? To hit me when I get too creepy for your taste?”

She holds up a thick and leather-bound book, her hands shaking. “Like this?”

He nods, “Yeah, keep it with you.” Once they reach Pangea, he takes a left turn — he was supposed to drive right to meet with the road — to a driveway to the forest, passing a few streetlights (thank god for the light, since this entire place was already eerie for him even with illumination) and low-lying branches. Even if they were a seat apart, he could still feel Shanghai shaking like she was freezing to death.

Using his prior knowledge in driving up a hill (not much, considering his knowledge of driving had melted into a puddle of gas), he veers the car forward, stopping just at the foot of the hill. He opens the car door, taking a relieving breath as the cool night breeze brushes against his skin and tussles his hair. He gives the moon that was staring at him a bright smile, the stars blinkering at him.

Shanghai climbs out of the car, book in hand, still paranoid and suspicious of his plans. The evening’s air calms her down a little, and he motions for her to come forward so they could both gaze at the stars together, soothing and comforting them.

The climb up at the hill was tiresome; he reminds himself to exercise every day if his legs are already becoming tired just by trying to climb this hill. Imsi grins as Shanghai surpasses him, her eyes planted onto the stars, still shining and beaming above the both of them. Once he reaches the top of the hill, his eyes are pointed downward— to the city below them, lights rivaling the night sky, trying to top the stars and moon.

He and Shanghai take a seat at the ledge of the hill.

“Too much light pollution”, he says.

“Too much light pollution”, she agrees.

But their rivaling lights were both beautiful to look at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i tried really hard to convey Shanghai's experience, but hhhhhh it was painful for me to reflect on it so I'm really sorry for that half-assed convo
> 
> Translation:  
> Joesonghajiman, sigan-i deo pilyo-hamnida: i’m sorry but i need more time
> 
> Mèiguānxì: it’s okay
> 
> nàgè húndàn: that bastard
> 
> neol neomu nado saranghae: i love you so much
> 
> Eon-eo: language
> 
> Geogjeong hajima: don’t worry
> 
> eotteohge dangsin-i hal su: how could you
> 
> wŏ de bǎobèi: my darling
> 
> wǒ ài nǐ: i love you


	21. You Got The Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America gets some answers from Teikoku.
> 
> **Trigger Warning: mentions of rape, assault, abuse, pedophilia and incest.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for uh, taking way too long, my tablet broke and sorry if there are any iffy parts, i wrote some of them on my phone and the other parts on a laptop

Her alarm clock begins to ring loud and high into the morning, just when the sun is about to rise. The alarm’s blaring sound was enough for the deity of dreams and its cronies to dissolve America's dreams, pulling her out of the peaceful and tranquil sea of sleep and back into the grave reality she had grown to hate. America rises from her sleep immediately, swearing at the garish sound her clock was making before stopping it. Grumbling incomprehensible words about how her day is ruined already, she climbs out of bed and to the kitchen, wanting to make herself some coffee. Drawing her curtains open to marvel at the sun — and grimacing at the traffic jam right below her apartment — its bright rays seemed to reach out to rouse those who still slumber awake, into the new day.

America hates days; she would rather work at night, a time of peace and silence to do her work slowly and carefully. Perhaps the vampires were right about something.

She stares at the sun, feeling warm steam linger on her face as she smells the bitter coffee beans mixed with hot water. Wind flows by her, and she is forced to look at her — admittedly — messy room; after seconds of scrutinizing every piece of a misplaced magazine, book, and furniture, she makes a mental note to clean all of those up in the near future (which she doubts she will never do, given her track record of not taking anything seriously).

The noisy buzz of traffic, engines starting, shutters of stores opening and people talking makes America irate; she wanted the silence and closure back, missing the way they would embrace her in their arms like a child. Taking another sip of coffee, she looks down on the now-bustling road, slowly increasing on its cars and people.

As she takes a sip of her coffee — savoring its bitter taste — she suddenly had a thought about Australia; comparing him to the honking cars and engines being started up. She smiles slightly at the thought of Australia simply thinking that his voice would be louder than all the cars below her— and then suddenly her smile fades due to the fact that she had not seen him for three days.

Taking her phone from its own resting place — and charger — she dials Australia's number. She didn't really care that he hadn't answered her for the past few days (as if he had been avoiding her, but he's been avoiding everyone and focusing on Villers' health ever since she had returned), she wanted to see if he was doing alright. After a few rings, she expects her brother to answer, but;

"G'day cunts! It's Australia here! If I don't answer, maybe that's cause I'm busy or sick or dead, so if ya wanna call me, just leave a message!" A cheery, jovial yet machine answer was what she got.

Her happiness and excitement deflating, she sighs and just gives him another message he might not even listen to. "Hey Australia; how are you and Villers holding up? You haven't been answering my calls and gone to work lately so... I'm worried about you, you know? I just wanna make sure you're alright— are you though? I... I'm really sorry." She ends the message with a sigh, suddenly feeling horrible inside; as if she had just sentenced a person she held dear to their death.

What a shitty morning indeed.

Her mind, always trying its best to soothe her, gives her a memory of she and Koku, acting blissful and ignorant at the world that was unsafe and cruel to those who did not fit in their narrative. Even if it had just been a night and a half (Teikoku almost walked into them kissing — Koku saves themselves from having to face an aghast brother by pretending to affectionately talk to a rose bush — and he pulled Koku out of his own room to talk about an ‘urgent’ matter), she started missing him.

It was strange— being in love with someone was much different than sleeping with assorted men every night. Her heart beats so fast at _everything_ Koku does; to laughing, smiling, just being himself… it made her feel like she is actually loved and she herself reciprocates by also providing him with the healthiest kind of love.

He makes her smile; a bullet of happiness and love shot right through her head.

She stares at the necklace she had brought home from work— how she hid the silver beaded jewelry right underneath the naked eye, so that no one could ever stare at it and question where she had gotten it; because she will fall under scrutiny and disbelief, and she didn’t want that.

But every time she wears it — whether it be in her apartment or in the Nippon household — she could feel its silver beads touching her gingerly, softly; the same way Koku does, and it makes her feel like she was not alone, that someone was there.

He may not be here right now, but a gift or memory of him still lives by.

She tries to take a sip of her coffee, and then when she realizes that she has already finished it, she puts her mug on the sink before taking her towel and enters her bathroom. The light blue-and-white tiles and floors are cold against her own bare feet, and she stares at herself in the mirror; somehow despite having the same appearance as her, her reflection holds something in her eyes. Her doppelganger would always stare back at her in the shiniest of surfaces, but there is something in her eyes; a lingering gaze of uncertainty and insecurity hidden deep, a pool of the truth, her truth.

She yanks her gaze off of her reflection and turns the shower head-on, trying to detach herself from worldly desires and revels at the feeling of warm water coursing through her body.

* * *

"How's your morning?" Irritation grabs at her reigns and she snaps her head to glare at New Zealand, innocently pouring coffee in his cup.

"Shut the fuck up", she snaps, before groaning and pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just... stop talking for a minute, please."

New Zealand shrugs, having already finished pouring a large amount of sugar into his coffee (it's something he usually does, and it actually bothers her), "I can't stand a day without talking, especially to the only person who would bother listening to me."

She feigns sadness and pity, "Awww, did everyone finally get bored of your essay writing practices or getting to be your test audience while reciting a speech?"

(Her mind laughs at the memory of New Zealand entering a stage during his presentation in middle school; he had tripped and fallen on the last flight of stairs leading to the said stage, and all his sleeves split out a thousand of his cue cards. Australia had laughed first at his brother's plight and the others soon followed.)

He rolls his eyes, "Haha, very funny— actually Luxembourg isn't free for today so I have no one to talk to."

She smirks, "For someone who grimaces whenever Luxembourg appears, you seem to have been liking his company in private."

He rolls his eyes, going red, "It's not like that, America— sure he can be full of himself and his mother tried to kill you so many times, but he was... pleasant to be around with." His gaze flits to a mindless and lovestruck stare, before snapping out of seeing hearts and signs of happily ever afters to blankly stare at her. "Although he has to hide from his mother when coming to meet me, so I didn't want to bother him more."

"You really are deeply in love with him."

"I am not!" He flashes her an indignant look. He immediately changes the subject of — his obvious crush — Luxembourg to something else. "How are you holding up?"

She shrugs, "Never better; actually, I was wondering, is Vietnam or Philip already here?" She had the urge of apologizing at them today— she didn't know where she had gotten the sense to say she was sorry, but maybe she should just roll with it.

After all, she had screamed and shouted profanities at them, blaming the pair for getting their only chance to study Teikoku and his moves and crimes to be taken from them. And after that little stunt, she felt guilty; not guilty enough for her pride to swell down, but guilty enough to make her feel bad and wish to own up to her actions.

"Yeah, Vietnam checked in after you came in — looking like a storm hit your home and yourself — whilst Philip checked in after I entered the coffee room." He softens, reading her thoughts, "If you ask me, you're ready as ever."

She smiles at her brother wryly, "Thanks, I needed that encouragement." She walked towards Vietnam's desk that was nearest to the coffee machine; full of ferns, plants, and any other kinds of ornament, the woman specialized in making sure all kinds of herbs or plants grow underneath her with care.

Vietnam appears in her vision, stacking some papers up in a neat and orderly manner; taking a deep breath, she clears her throat in order to get her attention— needless to say, it worked, but now her pride was swelling once again, telling her a simple and petty excuse to why she had caught her attention... except instead of listening to it and saving herself from an awkward apology, she brushes her pride off like it was a spec of dust.

"May I help you with something?" Vietnam asks slowly and cautiously, her fingers digging into harmless sheets of paper.

"No, nothing really", America shakes her head; she should've practiced her apology in her mind before approaching Vietnam. She calms herself down, opens her mouth, and immediately starts to apologize. "Look, I gotta be real honest with ya: I'm... sorry for being a bitch to you days ago. Yeah, I was angry, but that doesn't really excuse me hurling insults to you or Philip's face." She scratches her head— she thinks of anything more to say before shrugging. "So uh, yeah."

Vietnam stares at her for a moment, and she expects her to just get up from her seat and walk away; but she just gives her an exhausted sigh.

"I mean, your anger was pretty much justified", she responds with tired eyes, "I didn't even notice or double-check if the files had been transferred successfully, and by the time you opened it and saw that terrifying note we all know it was already too late."

"Yeah uh, sorry again." She changes the subject quickly, disliking her uncertain apology. "I'm still just unsettled and angered by that note Teikoku left to us, and how he managed to retake all the information we stole from him."

"Teikoku must've hatched a virus all over his data", Vietnam thinks out loud, "a virus that only activates when his files and information were transferred to another device."

"Or somebody trespassed into the police department and sabotaged us", America suggests.

Her colleague stares at her, "Didn't you open the desktop once the files were transferred?"

"Yeah, and everything there had been intact when I checked."

"Someone must have stolen it then", she agrees— America was thankful to have someone in the police department owning insight, "while we were distracted, a person that must've been sent by Teikoku came in and stole all the files when we weren't looking— when we weren't even here."

"Maybe the cameras can tell us", America replies, scrutinizing them, “they might have dropped extra footage that can help answer our questions.”

Vietnam agrees, before turning to New Zealand, “I’ll check the surveillance camera’s footage out.”

He nods, his ‘serious face’ intact. “All right.”

As Vietnam trots out of the office room, America approaches Philip’s desk, full of those white orchids and now — a new addition — a vase of red spider lilies brightens his desk up.

 _His secret admirer really likes sending him flowers_ , she thinks, finding herself staring at them while approaching his desk (America and the others all light-heartedly joked that Christine was finally reciprocating his feelings). He seemed to be calling someone, and judging by his expression, he seemed to be between agitated and relaxed; he was slouching on his chair, feet on his desk while he chatted away.

As she approaches, she hears more of his conversation with the other end. “Boss would be _pretty_ mad if I — for god’s sake Smiles, stop interrupting me — because all I’m saying is that we should _raid_ … I know, Boss wouldn’t like that, and said we shouldn’t have… okay, yeah. Of course I’ll be there— _always_.” He hangs up once he sees America standing awkwardly out of the corner of his eye.

“Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but who were you talking to?” she asks; she was not really good at keeping curiosities to herself.

He peers at her mysteriously, before putting his phone in his pocket, “An old friend of mine.”

She raises a brow at him, “Christine?”

The dark-haired man just glares at her. “What do you want?”

“Just uh… wanted to apologize”, she says, “y’know… for days ago.”

“It’s alright, I should’ve been more careful.” He sounded less sincere than Vietnam had for losing the information. “It was my fault, I was so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid”, she replies— even if she found him stupid, “you’re just… doing your job.”

“Okay.” He looks down and his brows furrow, “And what’s that?”

Much to her shock and surprise, one of the beads her necklace had was glinting in the lights; even New Zealand leaned in to expect it.

“It’s… a _necklace_ ”, she confesses; she didn’t have the energy to lie at them, showing the jewelry that had kicked off her and Koku’s relationship. “Uh… Koku gave it to me.”

“Koku?” Kiwi frowns, and Philip stares at it, beguiled. “Isn’t he Teikoku’s brother?”

“Y-yeah, but like”, she pushes her mind for the right word, “he’s cool, we’re both cool!”

“You… accepted one of our lead’s gifts.”

“It doesn’t have spy cameras in every bead— I checked, I swear!”

“It might have a location tracker”, he answers.

“It doesn’t have one, I checked that! I checked _everything_!”

“Why would Koku send you a necklace?” Philip asks, face full of fascination and intrigue.

“Because he thinks I like him”, she says, “but I _don’t_. I’m just using him to get to Teikoku and everything he knows.” She felt like she had been stung in every inch of her body, like her lies about Koku and her relationship was poisoned in her veins.

Kiwi stares at her, and then sighs, “Okay; just don’t take his feelings seriously; it might rub off on you.”

She rolls her eyes, “Right.” Her body slumps over a wall like a runner running a thousand miles into their destination. “I need a fucking break.”

“Yeah”, her brother agrees, “let me and the others handle this.”

“That wasn’t supposed to be an answerable comment”, she replies, rubbing her eyes.

“Well, you _need_ to rest”, he says the statement so simply; he’s the type of person to give such wise advice to others, but refuse to acknowledge how heavy it is to others. “Your body seems to be giving up.”

“I’m fine”, America insists, sighing. “I can carry out some more work.”

“No, _you_ go back to your apartment”, Kiwi replies bluntly. “We can handle it here.”

“God Kiwi, I’m _fine_ ”, America asserts, “no need to get stressed over your big sister.”

He tilts his head, sighing exhaustively, “ _America_ , stop being stubborn and get all the help you need.”

“Ugh, fuck off”, she snaps, rolling her eyes. “I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, well, handling yourself hasn’t been thriving as of late”, he says sarcastically, “just… I don’t know, go have fun in bars or clubs or diners or whatever. Just don’t concern yourself with the cases that have been filed onto us?”

She glares at her brother— she knows he’s telling her the truth (she hasn’t really been keen on resting until she’s able to retrieve all of the data she had stolen from Teikoku), but she swells with shattered pride at the thought of someone being right. “No thanks, I’m _fine_.”

“I insist”, he says, crossing his arms. “It’d be better if you get some shut-eye.”

“Well, I’m not gonna get some shut-eye”, she ties her hair up in a bun, a grim expression on her face, “I’m going to go investigate more on the Nippon household.”

“That is a _horrible_ idea”, Kiwi says, then sighs, “why can’t you just be lazy and slack off like you used to do?”

(She slacked off at work often, even when Canada and Kiwi tried to dissuade her and Australia from such a lifestyle; sneaking out of the department often to get drunk, cook unnecessary food using the coffee machine, and even talk shit about a few colleagues that got under their nerves.

One time, while drinking in a bar, they managed to catch one of the wanted criminals— they were rewarded with a pay raise… and a warning for their behavior.)

“ _Because_ , we haven’t gotten a case like this since forever!” she exclaims, putting her arms up. “I’ve been waiting for another major and serious case ever since we busted Deutsches Reich’s drug trafficking scheme!”

He stares at her with an utter look of disbelief, “That was _months_ ago— and you want to have another ‘serious case’?”

“I _know_ it was months ago, but I was dying of boredom until that guy showed up whining about his mother”, she replies, tone softening, “to be honest, I actually _want_ to resign from my job due to how boring it was.”

“Wait a minute”, he stops her, blinking and processing her words, “you were going to _resign_?”

“Keep your fucking voice down”, she says, looking around and still seeing everyone caught up with whatever they’re doing. “But yeah, I wanted to actually have a life from catching petty thieves to psychopathic murderers.”

“Well… I can’t argue with that”, he replies nonchalantly, turning the door open. “What do you even want to do? If you resign, I mean.”

She thinks for a moment, exiting the room with her brother and a few more others. She never really thought about what she would do if she retired or resigned from a job that had revolved around her life; except for the times it never really did. She does wonder to herself though: what would she do without this job?

Before she could even run a list of plausible answers, an image of Koku smiling at her fills her mind, causing her mind to overload and force her to go back to the real world without an answer. She feels her face grow warm at the image of Koku.

“Dunno either”, she says with a shrug as they walk into the corridors, “I mean, I’m not in my sixties yet, so I’m not retiring any time soon.”

“Right”, he nods, before staring back at his sister, “your face is red, though.”

Him noticing how red she is makes her face grow redder, “Maybe just the heat.”

“Meri, the sun hasn’t been seen through the clouds yet.”

“Well, maybe clouds can still generate heat!” She changed the topic so that the subject of her face wasn’t the main subject, “Anyways, how’s Australia?” She asks the question in a quiet voice.

(Kiwi was the only person that had guided Australia and Villers home after their brother had made it clear that he can’t drive in his drunk and solemn state, and Villers was still shaken and traumatized.)

His casual demeanor changes into a tense one, “He was livid, solemn, despondent and blamed you for not stepping up earlier.”

She furrows her brow, “He blamed _me_?”

Kiwi tilts his head to the side, “I mean, you _did_ suggest to stand down first— not that it was the least rational advice you’ve offered to us.”

“I didn’t _know_ what to do!” she exclaims, hurt that Australia blamed _her_ for getting Villers traumatized; she didn’t even _want_ — or _desired_ — for her friend to get hurt. “I was actually planning to buy them—”

“Uh, he doesn’t want you to visit them”, Kiwi immediately dissuades her, “he doesn’t want you five feet near his house, him and Villers.”

Her hurt turns to frustration and anger; she refuses to be vulnerable, even in moments like this. “Fine, let him stay cooped up in his own fucking house!”

“Meri, you got to understand him”, Kiwi reasons, “his fiancèe literally got _assaulted_ by Teikoku and wounded to the point this must’ve emotionally overwhelmed her. Look, I know that blaming others for something serious as that is stupid, but you have to see he and Villers are stuck in a dark place now. I know you mean well, but it’d be better if you stay away until he’s okay.”

She didn’t _want_ to let it go; who can hate someone like her? “But it isn’t fair! How come _I’m_ the one getting blamed for the shit Teikoku did?!”

“Meri, breathe with me”, Kiwi soothes her, “imagine if you have a partner — which is plausible — in Villers’ situation, how would you react?”

She was about to open her mouth when another memory of Koku appears in her mind to give her pause and more time to think. “I’d be… angry, livid, as despondent as Australia was if Teikoku had touched him.” Images of Koku indirectly getting hurt by his own brother flashed in her mind, making her angrier. “I’d try getting him to distance himself from that asshole, teaching him that it’s okay to make mistakes and that everyone loves him.” She didn’t even notice that she had already been rattling off about the injustice the people she cared about suffered, that she forgot that she had been talking to her brother.

Kiwi blinks at her — surprised at her statement — before regaining his composure, “So, do you understand why Australia’s acting the way he is?”

After taking it to a moment’s consideration, she gives him a surrendered sigh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Even if she still didn’t understand why Australia still blamed her, but she’s less angry now that she confronts said idea.

“You still need to take a break, though.” Kiwi forwards his hand to her, rubbing her shoulders soothingly.

She groans, smacking his hand away.

* * *

Walking beneath the shade of gray clouds about to drop rain from kinds of evaporated water to pour down on her any second was usually a bad move on her part; but she doesn’t really care anymore. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots the Nippon Household, looming intimidatingly far away; even the sight of the large house was enough to fill her in with dread and longing (only for Koku and Palau).

She didn’t know why she was still insisting on coming here— the awful job was done, they almost won, but in the end, Teikoku sits on his throne with a triumphant smirk. Then her head comes back to Koku and Palau; about how much Koku’s kisses mean the entire world to her, about how Palau’s affectionate smile melts her damn heart from the inside out. She smiles at the thought of seeing them again; it was enough to clear her mind about what happened today.

As she draws nearer, her eyes make out the form of a lone man just leaning on the Nippon Household’s front gates, head hung low and dark hair obscuring his face; but she already knows who he is and is aware he doesn’t mean much harm.

As she approaches that dreadful home, she musters a smile— even when she doesn't want to smile and has no interest in conversing with Koku _yet_ . Even if she likes Koku now, she… didn’t _want_ to spend time with him today; and that’s troubling.

It wasn’t like she would try and actively evade his attention or him (well, she _is_ walking up to him in plain sight), but she’s here — again — to extract more pitiful information even when everything has gone dry like a river in the dry seasons.

When she had all but walked up to the gates, Koku snaps his head up with alertness and tension; once he immediately sees it was just America, his rigid and tense posture relaxes, shifting his foot to another with a huff.

America, being the observant person she was, takes notice of it, “Hey Koku, got something stuck up your ass?”

She was lightly teasing, but of course, he takes it seriously, scowling at her. “No!” He glances around with a look of tension before staring back at her. “I thought you were… _him_.”

“‘Him’? ‘Him’ who?” she asks, lifting a brow.

He averts his gaze and scratches his head, “Weimar.”

Her day went from shit to absolute shit when she hears that name. “Oh, _him_ ; joy.”

He nods, clearly unaware that she was being sarcastic. “Teikoku told me that Weimar would be visiting today, but he’s not even here yet.” He smiles at her, making her heart skip a beat, “But since you’re here, let’s go inside; it looks like it’s about to rain any second.”

She sighs, a fond smile on her face as Koku opens the gates, “I’d love to be dry today; I feel like punching rain.”

He laughs, opening the gate for her. “You can’t punch _rain_.”

“Watch me.” She catches him by surprise through tugging on his collar until his face was just mere inches away from hers (it still irks her that he was just so tall). He actually gets what she wants him to do — much to her surprise — bending his neck, his lips just millimeters away from hers; before she can close the distance, she feels the skin on her neck spike up, and she turns to see a surveillance camera glaring innocently at them.

By impulse, she gently pushes Koku away, making him confused, until she points at the camera with her eyes.

“I get it”, he says dejectedly, before going inside of the yard. She stares at him with lonely eyes, but she starts to walk.

America follows Koku into the house, still catching herself staring at the golden-tiled pathway donned with birdbaths, flowerpots, trees, and butterflies fluttering around them like confetti, but they were actual living beings.

 _Still wondering how Teikoku can fit a garden at the front and a forest at the back_ , she thinks, heading inside before the door closes.

“Room, then?” he suggests, looking back at her; she nods, eager to get out of the camera-filled hallways.

(She doubts that Teikoku _hadn’t_ installed a camera in Koku’s or anyone else’s room; he seems like the type of father — and brother — to spy on his ‘loved ones’ and control them like they were less of a human and more of an object or livestock.)

When he opens the door to his room, she immediately walks in and plops herself on his bed, causing Koku to chuckle.

“Are you alright?” he asks, sitting near the edge of his bed. He kisses America on the cheek, making her mutter incomprehensible swears and words of flattery.

“‘M fine”, she replies with another long and exhausted sigh, “just… work outside my job.”

His face morphs into one of concern, “How’s the hostage situation? Is your friend safe?”

She had to laugh at how oblivious he was that his brother ruined Australia and Villers’ life, but she answers his question. “We got her back a few days ago — sorry for not notifying you of that — she’s pretty shaken up, but she and my brother are fine.” She winces at the lies she had spat, but she didn’t want him to grill more answers from her.

Luckily enough, he didn’t pry, only nodding. “I see; tell her I send her my condolences.”

 _I don’t think she’d want to hear from you, to be honest_. “Okay, I’ll tell her. By the way, did Teikoku return from his ‘week-long trip’?”

(Teikoku left on a business trip just a week ago— since Tokyo has departed he left Koku in charge of the house. She severely doubts that he left important documents for his brother to take care of since most of their schedule was free.)

“Yeah, he returned this morning.” He joins in on lying down with her, staring at his blank ceiling, “I can see why you like staring at ceilings; it isn’t visually pleasing, but it’s emotionally relieving.”

She turns her head to look at him, “Way to turn ‘staring at a ceiling’ deep.”

He blushes, “Sorry, I just like talking about nonsensical things, especially when I’m with someone.”

“ _I’m_ nonsensical.”

The boy beside her laughs. “You’re not— but your ideas are, sometimes.”

She takes offense to that. “My ideas are fucking _cool_.”

“I did say _some_ of your ideas are nonsensical, but not all of it.” He gets up and walks to his desk, taking a seat. She watches him open one of the drawers, taking out a pen and a make-shift book. “Then again, said nonsensical ideas gave me a few inspirations for my book.”

She lifts a brow, interested; she was cognizant of the fact that he had other hobbies outside of sneaking out of his home into bars, being afraid of Teikoku, or being annoyed by Minguk. She gets up until she is in a sitting position, staring at Koku’s back as he scribbles away on his somewhat paperback book.

“Didn’t know you write”, she states, before hitting herself repeatedly— how could she _not_ know about Koku’s interests and hobbies? She really doesn’t know jack shit about this family, especially if she’s somewhat _dating_ someone from said family.

(She’s still in shock that she managed to score Koku as a boyfriend.)

“I usually write figments of words after my imagination wrote something on impulse”, he explains, still fixated on his work, “but I’m just writing another chapter— the fourth chapter actually, I’m struggling not to abandon this so I take a lot of long breaks.”

“At least you’re motivated to do _something_ ”, she blows a few loose strands of her hair out of her face, “I’d kill to have your motivation.”

“Please don’t kill me”, he jokes, “my motivation is as fragile as it is; imagine if you rob me more of my will to write.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” she laughs, crossing her legs. “I have just about enough motivation to live as your motivation to write.”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be writing for a few minutes”, Koku replies; he stops writing and turns towards America with a worried look, “you’re not gonna be mad, are you? I-it’s just that I want to focus and try making this sound and look good like it does in my head— I just wanted it to be—”

“Okay, okay, chill”, she calms him down, “it’s completely fine if you want alone time to yourself; you’re not being selfish. Being alone with your work can help your work flourish and make your mind even more creative. So, like, don’t feel guilty, okay?”

He doesn’t look convinced, and once he opens his mouth she already knows what he’s going to say. “Being alone with myself is considered rather derisive and contemptuous— I should be spending more time with my family rather than working alone.”

“No, it’s alright, everyone has the right to be left alone”, she replies, crossing her arms, “besides, I’m going to talk to Teikoku about… _something_.”

“Is it serious?”

She shrugs, “As serious as you want it to be; I’m just gonna talk to him about his company and collaborations with other businesses.” She lies through her teeth— she’s been lying to him about who she really is by now, but after getting to know him, guilt rushes through her.

What’s making her even guiltier was that she wasn’t here to give him company; she was here to find answers from Teikoku.

His eyes shine like the sun about to be covered by rain clouds, “Okay; Teikoku is in his office, as always.”

“Thanks.” With a heavy heart, she opens the door and closes it.

Luckily enough, she knows how to navigate the halls and land herself into Teikoku’s office; she may have lost her sense of navigation around large houses (even though she's as blind as a rat in a maze in her own home), but she can memorize a few noteworthy landmarks.

As always, surveillance cameras are around every corner, eyeing her with watchful eyes as they send their feed to their master, always watching her every move. In her head, she can already see Teikoku just staring at her as she makes her way to his office.

She isn’t _scared_ of Teikoku; being intimidated is not the same as holding fear for this scumbag.

(Not that she _was_ intimidated by him as well.)

Just walking a few short feet to her destination was tiring and making her tense; her skin was marked with goosebumps, her heart beating faster. Even her legs were dragging herself through the floors, reaching their goal at the large and dark door, patterns of dragons, and the rising sun showing. She wanted to touch such mesmerizing works of art— but then she remembers the owner of the door and had nothing to do with it.

 _Okay, America, you got this_ , she thinks, taking another breath to calm herself down. Staring back at the dragon staring at her with eyes of hate, she knocks on the door (she’s gotta be honest, but Teikoku really doesn’t deserve being treated with politeness).

“Come in”, the man behind this door says, and after inhaling and exhaling one more time — whilst imagining punching Teikoku in the face — she opens the door, the cold air colliding with her face. The rigid air and dark surroundings were the same as always, and by now she should be used to it; but the only difference is that there were dark red eyes staring at her now. “America; how unexpected.”

Showing her courage, she stares dead into his eyes, “I’m here to talk to you about something.”

He leans forward on his chair, raising a brow while still retaining that unsettling smile of his, “I want to hear it, then.”

Her hatred for him increases but she stands firm, “You asshole; you know what I’m talking about.”

“I absolutely do not know what you’re talking about; _you_ were the one who entered my office wanting to talk about a certain ‘something’.”

She grits her teeth, impatience, and ire growing for this man, “About the data files, Teikoku; I know you sent _someone_ to steal them.”

He scoffs, arranging papers on his desk (how he could see papers in the dark is questionable), “Excuse me, but _you_ were the one who _used_ my _children_ to get into my office and collect — I mean, _stole_ — information from me! Do you not have any sense of privacy?”

“Oh please, someone like you scolding me for not giving you privacy? Teach yourself how to fucking respect others’ privacy as well!”

“America, America, America”, he tsks so condescendingly she cringes, the crimson pair of eyes that she had been staring at disappearing into the darkness. “To be honest, I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to force yourself into this mess.”

“Well, you underestimated me”, she retorts, spinning around trying to find those crimson red eyes that had haunted her dreams, “I’m stupid enough to get Villers into this mess, and now look at her; broken and traumatized.” She glares into the darkness, “Because of you.”

He howls with laughter, causing the woman to unconsciously shiver, “Oh please, she _enjoyed_ every moment of it!”

“Fuck you!” she spits, “Look at her now; she’s trying hard not to fucking _collapse_ because of what you did to her!”

“She did nothing when I had been destroying her from inside-out”, he teases, “she screamed for me to pound her, again, and again, and again—”

“She fucking did _not_!”

“Your friend said that I was better than Australia at everything; that she would be willing to stay with me as long as she pleases.”

“Fuck you, you don’t know what she’s feeling now!” She forms a fist, trying to look around and find where Teikoku could be. “You don’t know her pain!”

“Neither do you!” he mocks.

Her mind gives her a cluster of memories after that sentence; particularly those provocative smirks her father used to throw in her way when he wants to do something with her. “Neither do you— after all, you were the one that traumatized her.”

“Regarding the videos I’ve recorded with me and Villers together, I don’t think she looked traumatized.”

She stops, “Excuse me… _what_?”

The air around her laughs, “I said what I said.”

“You recorded you and- what- I didn’t know you were so fucking sick-”

“She consented.”

“Sh-she probably did _not_! What do you mean by ‘videos’ and ‘recording’?”

A silhouette appears out of thin air, near one of the bookcases— only it wasn’t full of books and rather videotapes of perhaps sickening footage. He takes one out of the said bookshelf, examining it carefully under the window’s dim light, before making his way towards her.

America cringes slightly at the sight of Teikoku approaching her, but still stands determined in her position.

He gives her a sly smirk, “This is all the videotapes and recordings of me — and others — with Villers.”

“You- you _let_ other people use Villers?” she interrogates, more focused on the last sentence.

He chuckles, “As a reward to my employees; after all, they were the ones that kidnapped her, and they deserve a meal to satisfy their hunger after watching me give her the love she deserves.”

“She _didn’t_ want that!” Her hatred for Teikoku was once again spawned as those disgusting words came out of his mouth. “She _loves_ Australia!”

“Maybe, maybe not”, he shrugs, “we will never truly know the answer to a woman’s feelings.”

“You sick fuck you-!” She tries to hit Teikoku with one of her fists, rage getting the best of her, but the man dodges and she finds herself trapped between him and the wall.

“Now now, America”, he taunts her like a child, pinning her against the wall, “I am just stating my honest opinion on Villers’ feelings; I never _meant_ to intrude on her and Australia’s relationship, but you left me with no choice.”

“Why the fuck did you choose her?” she replies, thinking of ways to escape his firm grip, “you could’ve fucking abducted _me_ instead; I’m the one who stole your shit.”

“But that wouldn’t be as fun and entertaining as playing with Villers”, he says childishly, “you’re… stubborn. Conceited. Too rough and noisy for me and my men. Simply put, you’re unappealing to the male eye.”

“Tell that to the various guys who found their way into my bed”, she returns, withholding the urge to tell him about Koku.

He ignores her, continuing on with his rambling, “You don’t really want to give up on putting me behind bars, do you?”

“I was unmotivated to catch you; because I know you’re in cahoots with UN and other much bigger corporations, but I was forced to resume this role by my brothers”, she replies, still pinned, “then you did such an atrocity to Villers that I became motivated to continue.”

“So _uplifting_ ”, he says sarcastically, and — much to her relief — letting her go; her shaking legs manage to let her stand straight. “But because of your never-ending conquest to try and arrest me — and put me on death row, perhaps — I will answer all of your questions; truthfully or not, it’s up to you.”

She stares at him like he had just been decapitated, “Wait, are you fucking serious.”

He cocks his head to the side, “In one condition: you answer _my_ questions.”

America narrows her eyes; she didn’t want to take such a precarious and short-sighted deal, but it was worth a shot. “Fine, I’ll agree to your deal.”

“Now that that’s settled”, he takes a seat on his chair, behind the desk once again, a devilish smirk and grim fire settling in his eyes, “shall we begin?”

She finds herself a seat in the darkness, “...Okay.” She swallows.

“Do you want me to ask first or do you want to question me?”

“Fine.” She thinks of a reliable question that is needed for the investigation; beneath her fingers, she taps her phone to record this conversation. “Do you have any kind of drug trades in the area?”

“A few, most notably in Asia Avenue and Eastern Ajia Street.”

“Can you… tell me where your warehouses are?”

He smiles gleefully, “I keep all of my drug warehouses in secret locations; somewhere you and your police officers will never find.”

“You underestimate me.” She smirks.

“My turn; do you know anything about your father’s sex trafficking scandal?”

He smirks as her smile falters a little; she knows _all_ too much about how their family name — respected and renowned — suddenly turned to a name of ridicule.

“Yes.” She grits her teeth, averting her gaze from Teikoku.

He, thankfully, didn’t pry, “It is a shame, really; Britain was such a good and well-liked colleague.”

“Who’s Hokkaido’s mother?” she asks such a leveled question; perhaps one of the children’s parents have the key to his connections to the underworld.

“A lowly woman with Ainu heritage who used to work for my father”, he replies off-handedly, “we played hide-and-go-seek the night our only child was about to be created; after Hokkaido’s birth, I never saw her again. Such a shame though; she was such a beautiful woman, too beautiful for her Ainu heritage.”

“You are fucking sick”, she replies to cushion her disappointment of not getting much more information about Hokkaido’s mother.

“Your father commented about how pretty you always are to me”, he states, an evil glint in his eye, “told me _all_ about your escapades with each other; tell me, how old were you when he started… giving you the time of your life?”

America was too shocked and disturbed at the question that she couldn’t even process her emotions right now; her mind then forces her to travel to the horrible and filthy memories she had retained about her own father, about how he had treated her more like a plaything than an actual daughter.

He laughs, knowing he had hit a vital point. “You can always _not_ answer a question, you know; or you can deflect it, whatever you want.”

She clenches her fist as more memories of her father doing things to her surfaces from the deepest recesses of her mind. “Fuck you, Teikoku.”

She’s not going to cry; not ever.

“I must have hit a nerve”, he chuckles, “go on with your question then; I’m waiting.”

She takes a breather, “What’s the location of your brothel— Comfort Zone?”

“The same location as all the other drug warehouses”, he replies, “but just like said warehouses, you wouldn’t be able to find them unless you have all the clues leading to them.”

“But Canada managed to locate your brothel.”

“With the help of clues; only those with interest and ambition can search for it without veiled eyes.” He smiles, “What was your favorite memory with your brothers?”

The woman opens her mouth to answer about how her brothers managed to cheer her up and comfort her after Britain had taken something of her away, but she wants to think about the times where everything and everyone was actually happy, “When Australia saved New Zealand from drowning in the creek.” She smiles at the memory. “How did you and Weimar meet? You both seem like long-time friends.”

“We met in our old high school, where we ruined a few people’s lives.” He answers cryptically. “Do you like tea?”

“Tea is just flavored water”, she answers, beguiled at such a mundane question. “Why do you have letters of Weimar _actually_ not agreeing to your plans to get Koku and Ost married in your drawers?” She’s aware that this question would completely expose her snooping around his office, but she knows he’s already mindful of that.

“Weimar was in a dark place at the time”, he answers gravely, completely feigning his tone, “after his father had been placed under probation and their company went bankrupt under his leadership, he sunk further into his depression, not even sparing me a glance or a chance to speak; he went over things his way, and for that his sanity began to fumble.”

“He started commenting that there were voices everywhere— in his dreams, in the bathroom, in his room, and even in the noisiest of places, these so-called voices were able to find him. He became disconnected from real life; his father suggested moving him into the asylum, but his mother wouldn’t have it. And then one day… he just _snapped_ , and finally answered my letters coherently, agreeing to our arrangement.”

“So you literally took advantage of Weimar’s state”, she deadpans, “what a surprise.”

He ignores her sentence. “Out of all your — half — brothers, who’re your favorite?”

“I really can’t choose between them— they’re all cool, but New Zealand is the only person who remains to stand by me currently.” She mutters incomprehensibly about how all of them are so overactive. “Well then, who’s _your_ favorite brother?”

“Koku”, his smile widens to one of pleasure, “he’s very gullible, don’t you think? Unlike that pain in the ass Tokyo, he willingly follows my orders around; such a sweet kid. Do you remember Britain’s old lair?”

“Yeah, barely, but I remember it being underneath the Vision Hospital”, she replies— no one really uses that lair anymore, not even Britain. “How do you follow the signs towards the Comfort Zone?”

“The city rises along with the sun.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah-ah, my turn”, he says mischievously, “who _did_ manage to get your father arrested?”

“I don’t even know”, she replies, before coming up with the conversation-ender. “Where is Minguk’s mother?”

He smiles, “I would ask why the sudden interest in Nabi, but I think I already know why you’re asking me that. However… this is one of the only questions I will never answer.”

“Asshole, just tell me!” she presses. “Or is she also in the brothel?”

“What if I tell you she _isn’t_ in the Comfort Zone?” he asks, slyly, “she will never be there with the other whores— she is too valuable.”

“You’re sick”, she says, “no women deserve to suffer something as vile as being sold for sex.”

“You don’t know women as I do.”

“You _hurt_ everyone”, she sugarcoats, “it’s what you do.”

“Oh please, it’s not like you hurt others as well”, he answers, and she glares at him with contempt; however she didn’t correct him, knowing that despite being the worst person alive, he was right. He nonchalantly leans back on his chair and stretches, before staring at the back of his hand like he had a watch on him. “Unfortunately, this is all the time I can spare; I have better things to do than getting interrogated by someone like you.”

“Fuck you, I never even _like_ being in the same room as you”, America gets up, purposefully pushing the chair back harshly against the floor, creating a loud and high-pitched sound that is able to hurt people’s ears. She lightly smirks when Teikoku — out of all people — cringe slightly at the sound she made. The woman approaches the door when she is interrupted by him again.

“Out of curiosity”, Teikoku lights up a cigarette, the orange flames flickering and lighting his face up like he was being burnt, “what is your relationship with Koku? You two have… grown _closer_ as of most recently.”

She stops, her green eyes fluttering all over the place; to the lit cigarette, to the dark curtains, to the cold floors with cherry blossom patterns, to the shadows being reflected against the wall, and to Teikoku just sitting on his chair, smoke flying from his cigarette like a butterfly wanting to escape. “I think Koku’s cool; he’s just a little all over the place.” She holds her breath, waiting for him to respond.

He quirks a brow, staring at her chest; or something _on_ her chest. “Who gave you that necklace? It has… real silver and gold on it.”

She swallows her fear, “One of my brothers did— he wanted to show how much he appreciated me.”

Crimson eyes stare at her in the darkness, and then he smiles, “I see; go on then, I do not want to see your face any longer.”

America immediately opens the door and walks outside, finally releasing the breath she’s been holding. She stares at her phone, still recording the entire scene before stopping the voice recorder and sending it to New Zealand, telling him he can do whatever to it.

* * *

“That was a long talk with Teikoku”, Koku states once America returns to his room; he was now lying on his bed, tablet in his hand. “Did he do something to you?” His tone immediately grows serious.

“No”, she shakes her head and sits beside him. She cranes her neck to take a glimpse at what he was looking at— much to her disinterest, it was a statistic on Teikoku’s current car models that went on sale and how many models were sold each month. “What are you even doing?”

“Just seeing if our sales have been increasing lately”, he replies, gesturing to the graph table, “and judging by its rise, let’s just say we’ve been increasing in stock.”

She feigns a smile; even if she wasn’t _that_ interested in business (she had unintentionally taken a nap when her father had been lecturing her about ensuring their business), she wanted to lift his spirits up. “That’s actually nice.”

He smiles in response, before it fades into a frown, “Tokyo’s cremation is tomorrow.”

She didn’t know how to respond to a personal statement, so she only said “Oh”, before she follows up with a question so she doesn’t sound stupid, “Do you want me to come or...?”

“I don’t think Teikoku would let anyone who wasn’t a family member in”, he sighs, “but the good news — for me — is that the party where I and Ost are about to dance in front of people.” His lips curl, “And I never liked dancing.”

“You can always practice with me”, she raises a brow, a smirk on her features, “I know a thing or two about dancing.”

He laughs, “Thanks, but I already know how”, he thinks for a moment, and then he furrows his brows, “without a partner.”

“Well, you do need a dance partner to help you practice, and I can always show you my moves”, she winks, making him chuckle.

“Okay okay; maybe we can start practicing tomorrow.”

“That’d be fine”, she breathes, before pulling his face towards her just so her lips can touch his, savoring the sweet taste of strawberries in her mouth.


	22. Running Around Leaving Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America and Japan visit Weimar.
> 
> **TW: emotional manipulation/abuse, gaslighting, an almost-anxiety attack, nightmares**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two more chapters... until the party 😳

“I am aware I get too repetitive of myself, but my condolences for Tokyo”, Weimar says, pouring Teikoku another one of his drinks. “It must be hard for you to grasp that your beloved brother is permanently gone from this world.”

“I couldn’t care less”, his friend replies, taking a sip of his wine. “It was a waste, that he decided to kill himself; but he was a thorn in my bush already.”

“How was Koku during the cremation?”

“He almost bawled his eyes out like an infant; luckily I struck him before he could properly break down.” He puts a hand to his forehead. “My family consists of insufferable children, and only I can save them.”

He senses Weimar cringe when he hears his reply, before regaining collectedness. “Is he still willing to accept the deal?”

He smirks, feeling himself fly. “Despite that bitch questioning him over and over about what I do, he hasn’t made any comment on why he agreed to him and Ost tying the knot in the first place.” Teikoku pauses, narrowing his eyes; he pours another bottle of whiskey into his glass. “Or knowing my brother, he  _ had _ commented about it, but America did not bat an eye about it.”

“She’s not the brightest tool in the shed”, Weimar agrees, taking a seat across his friend, “but she  _ did _ receive answers. I’m curious-- what made you want to give her the needed answers?”

“I wanted to toy with her.” He unravels his tie from his suit, dropping it to the ground like a ball of frustration, the tie just coiling in on itself like a snake. “I wanted to make fun of her.” He shrugs, “Besides, I already told all my workers to transfer and relocate all of our trades someplace else; that way, she would believe she’d been duped.”

“She can never face us without wearing any armor for protection-- we can see right through her.”

“I want to get rid of her. Keep her away from my brother.” He can feel himself giving into ecstasy and intoxication, the world that was revolving around him replaced with bright and neon colours-- too much for his eyes. “I believe she and my brother… there is something between them.”

“Didn’t you say America was wearing some sort of necklace yesterday? Do you know who gave her that?”

“She said she received it from her brothers”, he replies with a tone of sarcasm evident, “but according to one of my colleagues… she doesn’t have good relations with her brothers at the moment.”

Weimar smirks. “She is a horrible liar.”

“Or maybe we are just good lie detectors.” Teikoku chuckles, his dark red eyes only seeing the bed and  _ her _ above it. “I’ll have another talk with America regarding her relationship with my brother.”

“For someone who doesn’t seem to ‘ _ care _ ’ about his brother, you show more compassion to him than anything.”

He scowls, “I’m not going to let her take someone I need away from me.”

“I want to talk to her”, Weimar takes off his coat, placing it on the sofa. “Tell Koku I want him to visit the Deutsche Towers tomorrow-- as compensation for not dropping by earlier yesterday.”

“Of course. May I ask why you failed to show up?”

His emerald green eyes slide down to smooth floors, as one of his hands subconsciously holds his pearl necklace, “Reasons.”

His dark red eyes spiral with intrigue and realisation. “Ah, of course.”

_ He still has a bit of his humanity left _ .

“What do you want to talk to America about?” he tries lifting the conversation back to the woman who thinks she’s about to end their entire career.

Weimar leans on the desk, a smile upon his face. “About what she had deduced from your files.”

Teikoku laughs, “I won’t be surprised if she has no clue at what we’re doing.”

“Of course she doesn’t-- she thinks that everything can be solved with a few punches and kicks.” He pours himself a cup of tea, “Anyways, what do you have to do tomorrow?”

“Visit the Soviet Union.” If he had to admit, the man was intimidating, even to him; a supernatural element lurking in the shadows and observing them from afar. Even confronting him face-to-face, Teikoku shifts his standing every time they both speak, something that was too fearful to look at, afraid that he might just crumble to ashes by staring at him too long into the eye. Every time his mind would do that, he reminds himself that he is stronger than everyone; he is above everyone’s level, and above Soviet, no matter how much he threatens his position.

“Why, may I ask?”

“Regarding the past letters and correspondence he had sent to me”, Teikoku replies, frowning at the blurred out table, “I want answers.”

“You’ll get ambushed-- be killed before you even get to speak.”

“I am too valuable to die.” He smirks, lighting up a cigarette. “I can handle him all alone.”

“You perhaps need an entourage.”

“I am fine on my own; the best thing he could do is knock me to the ground unconscious. I’ll emerge out of there alive, and stronger than ever.”

“Have you heard?” Weimar cranes his neck closer, his lips pulling to an even wider smile. “Soviet’s mob is in disarray; from what I hear, it’s because he and Renmin broke up.”

“‘Renmin’? Oh yes, Renmin; he was Minguo’s brother.” He sighs. “No wonder I saw Soviet’s thugs following one of Soviet’s vehicles-- that being said, that must’ve been Renmin.”

“I’d send Soviet my condolences, but I’m not exactly  _ sorry _ now, am I?”

They both laugh, turning this room colder and bleaker than it had been before.

“On a more serious note, Renmin must have taken Jilin, Liaoning, and Heilongjiang from their home; Thailand came to Manchukuo’s old home yesterday and told me there was no one there.”

“What did you want to do to them?”

“Kill them.” There is no hiding the truth-- you either lie to yourself until it backfires on you, or say the truth and let the consequences hit you faster.

“You are cold.”

“I always am, and forever will be.”

They toast as the sun that had been watching them with its bright warm eye retreats into the horizon.

* * *

_ He was in a coffin. _

_ He didn’t know it was a coffin at first, however; all he could see was complete darkness, hear was the sound of silence, feel the space of confinement (he wasn’t going to lie, but he was panicking at such a small space to move in), and he smells the scent of death upon his nostrils. _

_ Then he turns his head-- he screams as his eyes see Tokyo’s corpse, positioned into a deep sleep. Koku tries to rear his head back, but he hits the hard wooden walls; there was no escape from that body. _

_ At first, he tried to kick, scream, and push the coffin open with his bare hands; then he now feels the entire coffin heating up, like a pot of water ready to be turned into steam. He could tolerate the increasing heat at first, but not the darkness and the smell of the undead. _

_ And then his entire vision erupts into a blaze of orange, red, and yellow-- the colors of fire. _

_ He can see the light now, but not just any light: the light of a fire burning the coffin, Tokyo, and him. _

_ The burning sensation was at first a sting, and then a bruise, and suddenly, he could feel the pain of being burnt alive, his skin peeling away in every second. _

_ He screams; he wants the pain to stop, wants it gone, and wants to be transported back into a world where getting burnt alive wasn’t happening to him. _

_ Suddenly, he can feel himself crying; it hurts his burning skin, and he reaches to touch the tears streaming down his face. _

_ To his horror, the so-called tears that were streaming down his face were blood-- crimson red. _

_ Koku hears the sounds of glass breaking everywhere; he didn’t know where exactly, but it seemed to draw nearer, and closer to him. _

_ A voice amongst the fires speaks out; a familiar and sweet voice he is supposed to be familiar with, but he couldn’t remember whose voice it was. “I’m not real.” _

And then he wakes up, back into reality.

-

Breakfast was the most exhausting time of the day-- and that is just when Koku had woken up. He was a late sleeper but an early waker (after all, letting someone rest for a long time will make them inefficient and unproductive), getting up before the watchful eye of the sun hits him. He’d look at the window, stare at the night sky that was ready to fade; there would be yellow streaks of morning hidden beneath the dark veils, peeking out.

Koku times the hour he went to bed (although not sleep, as that would be impossible to count) and the hour he woke up-- today he slept at around three in the morning and woke up at five-thirty in the morning.

It wasn’t a bad start-- but he was still sleepy after all the rest he had gotten. To cure his body disobeying his mind’s orders, he walks to the kitchen and brews himself the strongest coffee they have in store. He wasn’t a huge fan of coffee, but he needed it in his system.

To stall for the time where he goes downstairs for breakfast -- which was two hours from now -- he does some light reading and writing, something to keep him awake until Teikoku calls him down for breakfast.

He took his glasses from his bedside and started observing the reading list that Teikoku had picked out for him.

(Of course, he had no control of what he read as well-- Teikoku gives him the best and most educational books, books akin to what a philosopher would write all those years ago. He would always act amazed whenever Teikoku would add something to his lists, but at the same time feel disappointed-- he was not allowed to choose his  _ own _ books.

He had done that once; and hurtful words and heavy books have been thrown at him.)

However, he didn’t feel the need to read anything-- even with the caffeine kicking in his systems, his eyes felt heavy, and his body refused to move. His mind wasn’t motivated to do anything in these quiet and peaceful hours; it’s infuriating how he can’t be so productive all the time. Rubbing his eyes together, he diverts his attention to -- unintentionally -- Tokyo’s cremation that had happened yesterday night; it was a solemn and eye-watering event, and seeing his coffin ascend into the flames made him want to cry. He was only interrupted from his desolation and mourning by a painful smack on his face, caused by Teikoku.

He can still remember the words Teikoku had called him; he doesn’t even believe if they’re still compliments or not, as they tore through his heart like hair.

(He wasn’t able to sleep last night because of that.)

As he was scrolling, nonetheless, another thought is being shaped by his mind.

Teikoku almost always keeps him away from his affairs-- he wasn’t  _ that _ stupid enough to notice that the so-called ‘work’ his brother had given him were only small and casual topics in the business. Such as interviews, goals, paperwork, a few unsigned documents, or contracts that needed to be signed before the deadlines; it seemed too  _ light _ to him. His brother is one of the busiest men in the entire City, so he supposedly had a flooding workload.

He frowns, staring to the ceiling.  _ Does Teikoku think I’m unfit to inherit the company _ ? It’s the only speculation valid enough to Teikoku keeping him in check, oblivious, unaware of problems and the suspicious amount of light work he threw at him.

Like he didn’t expect him to inherit the company,  _ or even _ do a good job managing it.

His pessimistic part of his brain (which he loathes with all of his willpower) is quickly drowned out by the side of him that is always positive that Teikoku loves him.

_ He doesn’t think you’re  _ **_ unfit _ ** _ \-- but judging from the fact that you think he doesn’t care or put no second thoughts on you, then you are ill-suited to bequeath the company your brother built ground up. _

No matter how many times he has turned heads on both sides, he always sides with the voice that keeps supporting Teikoku (the good choice, the  _ best _ choice)-- because a brother should always support another.

If not, then he is just like all the people who would dare betray their own family.

* * *

“Koku, you don’t look so good; are you feeling alright?” Teikoku asks while stuffing more steak into his mouth.

His brother nods meekly, struggling with eating and not falling asleep on the table, uselessly scraping up his breakfast. “I-I’m feeling fine, Teikoku-sama, I probably just didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

He shakes his head and clicks his tongue; a sign that he must’ve done something wrong. “Oh Koku, didn’t I tell you to sleep early last night?”

His younger brother’s eyes look away from him, trying not to lose to sleep deprivation, “I j-just had a nightmare-- I didn’t get sleep because of it---”

“Are you  _ serious _ ?” He raises a brow, ridiculing his reason. “You didn’t  _ sleep _ because of a  _ nightmare _ ?” He laughs at such a ludicrous claim while Koku looks down. “I didn’t know you were such a coward, Koku.”

“I’m not a coward”, he answers, “the dream just distressed me, is all--”

“You should’ve faced your dreams and thoughts, Koku!” He interrupts. “Not wake up and cry like an infant child about it! You are a  _ coward, _ no exceptions!”

Koku looks at his brother sadly, “T-Teikoku, that hurt---”

He is silenced by that cruel glare, “I was giving you advice and a  _ compliment _ ; do  _ not _ make me look like the bad guy, Koku; we all know who the real evil person is.”

“I-I’m sorry Teikoku; thank you for the compliment.” Koku goes back to eating, feeling guilty at believing his own mind than his brother.

_ He knows better than you; don’t test him _ .

He doesn’t have the appetite to eat anymore than necessary, but if he up and leaves now with an unfinished steak and salad on his table, Teikoku will have another excuse to hit him with something (a plate of food, as far as he is concerned). So he just miserably stays there, forcing more food into his mouth, despite wanting to vomit with how embarrassed and humiliated he felt.

The only thing he can feel happy about was meeting America today.

* * *

“Wow, you look like you haven’t slept”, was the first thing that came out of America’s mouth when she shows up later that morning; he glares at her with all the negativity he could muster.

“Very funny”, he yawns, “but I  _ did _ get sleep last night; for two hours.”

She stares at him. “Dude… even  _ I _ don’t sleep that little.”

“Why? Because you need that beauty sleep of yours?” He swings an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to him.

“Yeah, I do, and I need a  _ lot _ of rest dealing with your family”, she replies jokingly, but somehow the joke doesn’t sit right with him.

His smile immediately fades, “America, why do you always have to make attacks on my family?”

She laughs, clearly not sensing he was already serious. “Oh come on Koku, can you take a joke?”

“I  _ can _ ”, he snaps, pushing her away, “but you don’t have to make more ‘jokes’ dedicated to just attacking my brother.”

“I’m not attacking him! Have some  _ fun _ in your life will you?”

“I have  _ plenty _ of fun-- but I’m getting tired of your jokes vilifying my brother!”

“Hey, I can take jokes that offend  _ me _ a lot, so why can’t you? Hell, you’re not even Teikoku, so why are you hurt?”

“Because he’s a nice person!”

She opens her mouth, about to say something-- but she shuts it, and then comes up with another response, “If you really think he’s a genuinely nice person, then there’s something wrong with you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” Hurt clings on to his veins, whilst his mind wraps around the suspicion that there  _ must _ be something wrong with him. “I just don’t want you talking about how my brother is the scum of the earth.”

America bites her lip, her green eyes firmly locked to the ground— a sign that she is in deep thought. Her frown and glare subsided, softening until she looked sadder than angry. “Okay, fine; I’ll stop making ‘ _ offensive _ ’ jokes about your brother.” She turns away, still mad.

“Was that sarcasm—”

“Who fucking  _ cares _ if I was being sarcastic or not? At least I have fun.”

“Meri, I feel bad we’re arguing at something as trivial as this”, he attempts to reach out to her, “but I've tolerated your jokes enough.”

She turns around and he pulls back, “I just said I’m okay now, you don’t need to be so sensitive about it.” America walks away.

He stares at her with surprised eyes, just distancing herself from him; his mind is in shambles as his last remaining brain cells offer him impressions and deductions of what his girlfriend (the word still feels foreign to his mouth— just not right) walking away from him meant. After walking a few feet away, she stops and turns back to him unexpectedly, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Hey, uh, I don’t really know where I’m going.” She tilts her head to the side; with this, the sun’s rays heavily lighting up her face, making her eyes shine brighter than it was. “Are we supposed to go outside for your daily exercise or are we supposed to be in quarantine?”

Koku tries for a small smile— even when his insides still hurt, “We’re supposed to be going to the Deutsche Towers today.”

She clicks her tongue, wearing a casual expression, “Ah, the psychopaths.”

His grey eyes widen in panic, pivoting his head around to see if there was any sign of a butterfly suspiciously following them. “America, please.”

She lifts her hands in surrender, sighing. “Okay, okay, sorry.” She gives him a bright and sweet smile, enough to make his heart beat faster. “Shall we go, then?”

Koku stares at her loose and freehand, making up his mind; he smiles, and takes her hand, a move that she hadn’t anticipated. “Yeah, let’s.”

* * *

The Deutsche Towers was a place that Koku never wanted to visit, but does anyway out of respect for his brother and Weimar (soon to be father-in-law). The towers were so large and tall, that they can be seen in every direction he faces; even seeing its silhouette was enough to send him shivers, like it had been following him so far away. He didn’t like how it was designed for intimidation, how it always seemed to leer at him.

He just doesn’t like the Deutsche Towers in general, and hated going there.

Something warm and moving in his hand snaps him back to reality, and his eyes focus on America; still holding his hand and still smiling, like the Towers in front of her was just a simple toy.

“W-what are you smiling about?” he asks.

“Hm?” She turns to look at him, looking all oblivious, “What do you mean?”

“You were still smiling, even when we’re drawing near the Deutsche Towers.” He  _ tries _ his hardest not to stare and get flustered just at the face she was making.

“Ah.” She smiles again. “You think I’m cute, don’t you?”

“Well — technically speaking — you’re  _ very _ cute”, he says awkwardly, thinking of more ways to flirt with her.

“Thanks. But you’re pretty cute yourself.” Much to his surprise, she leans onto him and entangles her fingers onto his hand more, clasping it tightly, still wearing that huge smile on her face.

“T-thank you.” Koku can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. “I’ve never received a compliment like that.”

“Well, I think you should receive  _ more _ ”, she kisses him on the cheek, making him feel hotter and even more embarrassed. “Everyone deserves compliments.”

“I do as well?”

“When I mean everyone, I meant  _ everyone _ .” She stands on her toes just to give him a head pat, feeling satisfied with herself, “Including my boyfriend.”

He gasps when he hears her say the word, “You think I’m your boyfriend?”

She laughs, “Of course I do; we — like —  _ kissed _ a bunch of times.”

“It feels nice, in a way”, he says wistfully, “to feel loved by someone.”

She nods agreeably. “It’s a very nice feeling, y’know.”

“I really like you, like  _ a lot _ .” There are a thousand or more words that can describe how he’s feeling towards her, but he settles on with the short version.

Her smile lights up like diamonds in the sky. “I like you a lot too.” She gives him another kiss on the cheek.

The dread that he had been feeling at the start of walking towards the Deutsche Towers had diminished, and even the negative feelings they felt for each other had been receded to empty piles. Love — or like, he doesn’t know what it is yet — really can make all the negative thoughts fade into the backgrounds.

It was fantastical, and he wishes he can experience more of it as well.

He remembers asking Tokyo about the definition of love and the different types of it; he was an oblivious child back then.

_ But I can learn from experience _ , he thinks, as he and America approach the entrance to the Towers.

* * *

Weimar is not a nice man— he may have fooled Koku once, but he won’t fall for the same tricks once again. He had upped his game and wouldn’t be tricked by the man’s schemes once again. It doesn’t change the fact that he still finds him very unsettling, though: his unhinged smile and maddened eyes scream danger towards him— the way he stares at America also makes him uncomfortable, with eyes that shout a desire of revenge.

Every time he thinks of the man, he is reminded of the human stew he forced them to eat.

Koku hopes that he and Weimar would just have a small and short conversation.

They stop holding hands (and all the warmth is gone in a second) when getting close to the — butterfly-covered — door. Green-winged butterflies flutter gently at the doorways, staring at them intensely, scrutinising the newcomers. Needless to say, it made him feel nervous all over again.

It isn’t that surprising he and Teikoku are friends; they were both intimidating, level-headed, and masters at their own game.

(Not that he thinks his brother is scary— of course not. He just manages to make him jump in surprise or feel even worse with certain jabs.)

The doors open on their own— or, the butterflies flutter out of their way, creating a colorful surrounding as they walk inside. He wasn’t fooled by their appearances though, he knows that they are eyes for those who cannot see.

A pair of emerald eyes stare at them from the top base of the staircase, “Ah, welcome back to the Towers,  _ mein Junge _ .”

“N-nice to see you again Mister Weimar.” He tries to hide the fear and worry in his voice, of how he was afraid of anything and everything.

( _ It’s just a normal reaction _ .

_ I’m a coward _ .)

“I miss you very much, Koku”, he says in that rigid and unreadable voice of his; no matter what emotion he’s feeling now, his voice always seemed to mask it.

“I’ve missed you a lot too, Mister Weimar”, he lies; suddenly he wonders if the man in front of him could tell which is the truth and which is a lie. “How are Ost and West?”

The man steps down each stair, his shoes making noise against the wooden stairs, a smile that grows wider each step down towards them. Koku watches him with wary eyes, afraid of what he might be about to do. His fingers brush over America’s; a sign that he is in fear of what was about to happen next. One of her fingers holds one of his, a signal that means they were both uncomfortable in the same room as Weimar.

The room felt colder and colder as the man walked towards them, a simple smile on his face— a thousand screams can be just heard from the inside of his mask. He swears that he can hear the butterflies that were stitched in Weimar’s suit flutter and come to life, eyeing him with fascination.

He touches Koku’s shoulder; a touch that made him standstill. “You wouldn’t know until you visit her.”

The young man in front of him nods, trying to loosen his grip on his shoulder, his heart beating fast and his lungs not receiving any air. “W-where is she then, Mister Weimar?”

_ Stop touching me. _

“In the indoor gardens, if I remember correctly”, he replies— but he still has not let go of his shoulder.

He can feel himself slip away from reality, little by little; like the hand on his shoulder was a deadly poison that had entered his body and is now making way to freeze every single part of his body. No matter how much air he was trying to suck into his lungs — while still maintaining composure in public — it never seemed to receive anything. He can feel his hands shaking, but he doesn’t make a single move; not with America and Weimar watching him.

Much to his relief, Weimar retracts his hand, now looking at him with a worried expression. “Mein Junge, you don’t look so well.”

The way he had noticed it made it much harder for him to breathe; now his insides were coiling. “I-I’m f-f-fine, but t-thank you for your c-concern.”

“Asshole”, America speaks up, facing Weimar, “stop touching him like that.”

“But I stopped; I don’t know what you’re being so outraged about.”

“I know you did it on purpose”, she says— he wished he had her courage to confront Weimar like that, but for now he’s scared that he might prey on America as well.

“America please”, he attempts to defuse the situation; “I’m okay.”

“Koku...” She looks at him with such earnestness and worry in his eyes that he might be able to reconsider his argument. “He’s stressing you out.”

“You’re exaggerating”, Weimar replies dismissively, his green eyes sparkling with annoyance. “I would never do such a thing to anyone, not even one of my dearest friends.

Koku finds himself questioning their status as friends— do friends scare each other to the point they couldn’t breathe? Do friends even intimidate each other?

Whatever the truth, he didn’t think he and Weimar were friends.

He turns to America, “It’s okay America; he didn’t mean it.”

She looks skeptical, crossing her arms, “Well… if you say so.” It was a statement of uncertainty, which he could tell.

An awkward and uncomfortable silence enters the room; Weimar smiling at them, Koku and America giving furtive glances at each other. It was unbearable and infuriating Koku, so he feigns a smile and asks Weimar the same question. “I must’ve not heard, but where are Ost and West again?”

“In the gardens, presumably with Österreich”, he simply replies, gazing emptily at the clouds.

“Thank you; I’m sorry if I’ve asked this question already.”

“You did, but I don’t mind— you have a short attention span, always easily distracted.”

He feels a pang of hurt in his chest, “W-was that supposed to be an insult?” Admittedly, he can never truly differentiate insults from compliments—sometimes an insulting name was a compliment, and a comment that says they love his work was an insult. He even had a hard time wondering if America was complimenting or insulting him and it makes his insides coil.

Weimar’s eyes widened, before laughing (cold and unnatural, turning the water inside of him to ice in mere seconds). “Oh  _ nein mein Junge!  _ Why would I insult someone as smart as you?”

“Liar”, America responds, a glare forming on her face.

“Koku, will you please find Ost yourself?” Weimar orders with a voice of need.

“Of course”, he says, turning to his bodyguard, “come on, America—“

“She stays with me”, Weimar cuts in, his smile doubling, glee intact. “We have… a few things to discuss.”

There was a surge of disappointment, and he felt like groaning. Instead, he stares at her with sad and pleading eyes. “But we’re never apart—“

“There’s nothing to be afraid of: America is a capable woman; I see fire and ambition in her eyes. She will be safe under my watch.”

“Trust me, Koku”, America says, a trying smile on her face, green eyes twinkling. “I want to talk to Weimar myself.”

“About what?” He couldn’t help curiosity overcome him; it was one of his greatest weaknesses. He felt lost and alone without her by his side, without her warmth resonating within him.

She slowly averts her gaze, her face fading from mock hope to a fake look of urgency— she’s hiding something. “It’s probably nothing; Weimar has the habit of calling people up whenever they piss him off.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees one of Weimar’s eyes twitch.

“Will you be okay?”

She laughs sweetly; a move that made his face grow warm with infatuation. “I’ll be fine, it’s just Weimar.”

Dangerous emerald eyes glare at her back, yet while she’s oblivious to it Koku can tell.

“I hope you don’t hurt her, Mister Weimar”, he tells his future father-in-law (he still blanches at that), before walking towards the indoor gardens. He turns back to give America one last smile of encouragement—which she reciprocates—before closing the boundaries that will keep them apart for the time being.

Once they’re both sure he’s gone, America’s smile fades into worry, her palms thick with sweat. She was nervous at confronting Weimar, but she hides it from Koku so he won’t feel anymore distressed. America feels a cold hand on her shoulder, and she doesn’t even hide the way she jolted.

“So”, Weimar whispers in her ear; his breath was cold, his voice low and barely a whisper. “I want to talk about your relationship with Koku.”

* * *

“Is your father a good person?” Koku asks the twins for what felt like the tenth time.

The twins glance at each other— just by giving each other looks and stares were they able to come up with an answer. “It depends.” They say at the same time.

“I also think he’s a good person”, he agrees, chewing at his lip anxiously. “But has he ever hurt anyone before?”

Now the twins’ faces scrunch up with uncertainty. They glance at each other again, communicating with their minds; this answer took them a long while to settle on their answers. After a few more seconds staring at each other (he notices that Ost’s stare had turned to a glare while West averts his gaze from the majority of the telepathic conversation), they pin down their answer and stare back at their questioner.

“W-well yes”, West stammers, fidgeting with his fingers, “he did hurt a few p-people getting in his way—“

“But he apologises”, Ost cuts in with a forced smile. “He only hits or hurts people whenever we— they do something wrong or something he doesn’t like.”

He nods, somewhat feeling better that America may be in good company— but he still noticed her slip-up. “Has he… ever hurt you both?” He questions them in a softer voice, hoping that those damn butterflies wouldn’t pay attention to their conversation.

“Nope!” The twins say at the same time; they didn’t even need to look at each other.

Koku is, however, sceptical of their answer. “But Ost, you said that—“

“It was a slip-up Koku”, she says in a hard voice, “I didn’t mean it that way.”

His grey eyes cut deep into her emerald ones, “I don’t believe it at all.”

She groans, “Just drop it— I don’t care if we’re marrying each other but not minding your own business is where I draw the line.”

West tugs on her sleeve, “But aren’t couples supposed to be open with each other?”

“Yeah, but I don’t like him”, she points to Koku— he was a tiny bit offended by her remark, but his feelings towards her were mutual. “He treats me like I’m just a teenager.”

“Because you are”, he shoots back.

Ost ignores him, “Boyfriends —or maybe even fiancés — are supposed to treat their girlfriends like they’re their own person, and should support them other than bringing them down.”

“You’re fifteen”, Koku replies bluntly, “I don’t think you’re ready to make big decisions at that age.”

“Well, a friend of mine believes I can be an adult just like you”, she responds. “I don’t need to reach the ‘age of maturity’. I’m completely fine and able to live on my own!”

“I don’t agree with that belief of yours”, Koku furrows his brows, remembering a few bits of Teikoku’s advice, “but as long as you’re optimistic about it, it’s fine; I just don’t think it will work in the long run.”

“Yes it will”, she says, before sitting down. “I can do anything.”

“If you say so”, he shrugs, sitting down an opposite chair, and another unbearable silence ensues. He changes the topic fast, eager to get this meeting — conversation — done with. “So West, Ost, how have you two been?”

“I’ve been studying for our finals lately”, West replies, fixing his glasses. “I want to make Vati proud.”

“I’m okay”, Ost says in an unreadable tone. “How… have you been?”

“I’m okay too”, Koku awkwardly replies, wringing his hands together; he wants to hit himself for not thinking of any other interesting responses. “I’m also trying to make my brother proud.”

“Here’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you lately”, Ost says in a low and whisper-like tone, leaning in. “What’s your relationship with your bodyguard?”

He should’ve known that someone would’ve caught wind of their situation, yet he haven’t even practised the lines he was supposed to say if a person assumes of his and America’s relationship. “Uh… it’s nothing personal, we’re just acquaintances.”

“Koku, every time you and your lady friend visit us, you always make sad eyes whenever she’s a distance away.” Ost looks at West to back her up with her claim.

“Right now you were asking if our Vati hurts people after he asked to talk with her for a second”, West claims, “you were worried for her.”

“P-people worry a lot when they leave their friends with a slightly suspicious person— not like Weimar is suspicious and evil, of course.”

“I heard you say you ‘love her’ a few days ago”, West recalls, “in the park.”

He swears at himself, “Well, I say those words to those I’m close—“

“Then you kissed her behind a tree.”

“…How did you even know where we are?!” He raises his voice slightly higher, enough for a butterfly to turn their direction, but not enough for it to be fixated on them.

“I walk home every day from school to the park”, West answers, “and I happened to see you two flirting.”

Koku can feel his embarrassment carving on his face, “I can’t believe it.”

“I can’t believe it either”, Ost chortles, trying not to laugh. “You must really like her.”

He smiles, “Yeah, I do.” He looks at her worriedly. “You don’t mind?”

She shakes her head, “No, I don’t mind you finding another person to spend your life with; I have my eyes settled on someone as well, you know.”

He raises a brow, “Mind telling me who it is?”

Ost’s face hardens, “Never.”

He sensed that this was the end of the conversation, so he shrugs. “Alright then.”

* * *

After an hour or so forcing himself to talk and socialise with Ost, she finally lets him leave, much to his relief; despite having been sitting on the same position with a relaxed posture, having a conversation with her drained his energy by a sheer amount. Eager to get out of this damned tower, he asks a guard where he had last seen Weimar and America— he replied by pointing at one of the doors on top of the second floor.

Following the guard’s directions, he climbs the stairs and follows the hallways to the direction he had pointed to him; as he descends further, he hears the sound of faint voices, yet they were both familiar to his ears.

He followed the sound of it, walking quietly, and the voices grew louder and louder, like someone’s voice had been echoing in a cave. He stops by a door of dark and polished wood; pressing his ear onto its hard surface, he hears their voices, loud and muffled due to their barricade.

He had been meaning to knock after making sure it was occupied, but then a fragment of their conversation reaches his ears, “It’s not like I think this relationship will last forever!”

Koku’s curiosity gets the better of his own manners (he’s sure that his cells are already fighting inside of what he had done), so he presses his ears harder.

“But I think he’s fallen head-over-heels for you”, a frigid and cold voice snakes its way to his ears; Weimar’s.

“He’ll get over it!” A stronger and harder voice rings around his eardrums; America. “They always do.”

_ Are they talking about me? _

“What if he doesn’t?” Weimar challenges her, “What if… perhaps, you fall for him too?”

“I won’t!” She shouts, stomping her foot against the floors, “I don’t fall in love with missions, you know!”

Something tore through his heart when she said that— it gave him pain only burns and bruises could make him feel, or when someone tears through his skin and tosses out the bones of his ribs one by one only to tear his heart out. It was like hearing that Santa Claus or the tooth fairy weren’t real to a child; their entire world has been destroyed by a simple revelation. A look of hurt makes his way across his face— his mind tells him to stop listening to the conversation and just interrupt them, but he wants to hear how it will go.

And what did she mean by  _ ‘mission’ _ ?

“But the way you were looking at Koku says otherwise”, Weimar replies snidely; Koku can imagine him giving America a gleeful smirk. “You seem…  _ worried _ for his health and welfare, for someone who doesn’t ‘fall in love’ with missions.”

He feels another pang of hurt vibrate around his body when he hears the word ‘ _ mission _ ’ being uttered out loud— he was in a state of confusion, hurt and doubt.

“That doesn’t prove anything”, America answers harshly, “I don’t  _ care _ for Koku.”

The first sentence stung him, but the last words she had uttered out loud to the point it had broken him and the entire world he was building for him and her. His body and mind felt weak, like they had finally given up on supporting him and defending her.

_ There’s got to be a way to explain everything _ .

He felt like he was just a pane of glass; transparent and fragile, easy to break. Was that… how America sees him? His mind was filled with questions, thoughts, and quips, and his eyes were blurring with tears— but he stopped himself from crying. He didn’t want them to see how weak he was, how he cries from meaningless insults; he’s more than that. He didn’t want them to see how much their words got into his head— especially America.

Koku was mad at  _ her _ ; how could she just say that? Was all the time they spent, conversations, intimate touches and kisses just somewhat  _ fictional _ to her? Was there any fabric of truth and reality from all the words and sweet nothings she had whispered to his ear? What did she mean by him being a  _ mission _ ?

He wants to get out of here, quickly, but he was frozen in place out of shock and embarrassment.

“Alright, I buy it”, Weimar states amusingly, snapping Koku out of his musings. He hears the sound of footsteps approaching the door; without wasting a second he gets up and tries to look and act normal and impressionable, despite the pounding in his head and the tears trying to exit his eyes. Trying to look casual, he reaches out for the door as if he was knocking on it in the first place (he should’ve done that instead of getting hurt).

(Teikoku was right; America was a horrible person.)

The door opens, revealing an indifferent Weimar and an exasperated America, looking like she had been beaten at her own game-- he should’ve been mad when he finally spares a glance in her direction, but she looks so exhausted and tired that he couldn’t help but feel concerned.

“Ah, Koku, what a surprise”, Weimar says, throwing a furtive glance towards America’s direction.

“I-I just got here”, Koku says, shifting his place and not wanting them to hear his voice cracking. “Was gonna knock on the door.”

“I see”, the older man smiles and nudges America; she growls at his touch.

“Let’s get out of here Koku”, she says, “this place gives me the creeps.”

No matter how much conflicting feelings were swelling up inside him, no matter how angry and hurt he is at America, he went with her.

He could sense that somebody’s eyes were watching them as they descended the staircase.

* * *

For someone who had told a man she hated that she ‘doesn’t fall in love with missions’ — whatever the hell that means — she was clinging to his arm, pecking him on the cheek and trying to make small talk with him. Due to current emotional distress and warring feelings, he tunes out her voice and only stares straight ahead, not even giving her a spare glance.

He feels a tug on his arm, and lips touching his ear, “Hey, are you listening to me?”

Koku recoils from her, yanking his arm away from her hands in the process. America stares at him, hurt; he stares back, before he realises it wasn’t worth it and turns to look at another direction and walk away from her.

He can hear her footsteps, and a warm hand enclosing on his wrist.

“What’s gotten into you?” she demands, holding onto his wrist tighter; he takes a deep breath once he is reminded that this was the same way Teikoku had made him stay during meetings or parties (and all of those experiences were inherently unpleasant).

Gritting his teeth, he turns his head to glare at her with — hopefully — the same level of intensity he is feeling on the inside. “Let me go.”

“ _ No _ ”, she says, although her grip on his wrist was loosening, “what's the matter with you? You’ve remained silent ever since we left that cursed place! Did something happen?” She had no right to sound and look so concerned, especially when she hurt him just a while ago.

He bites his lip; he didn’t know if he  _ should _ just break down in front of her and tell her the truth, but Teikoku’s words are holding him back.

(“ _ No women should be able to see men cry; they’ll believe they’re unprotected and vulnerable just because you decided to cry like they do.” _ )

“Why do  _ you _ care?” He snaps, his eyes burning right through her.

“Because I  _ like _ you, remember?!” She lets go of his arm. “And I  _ care _ about you!”

“Really?!” He didn’t know if he should believe her or not anymore; she was messing with his head in the worst ways possible.

“Yes!” She steps closer to him but he only steps back in caution-- he tries to draw a line between them. “I care and am concerned about your wellbeing! If you could just tell me--”

“You said— you said you didn’t care about me in front of Weimar!” He responds, “you  _ said _ I was part of a ‘mission’— what mission is that, exactly?”

She frowns, “Koku—”

“And— and before you explain— ” His eyes soften and his face gives her a desolate and solemn look, “Do you even love me?”

“Of— of course I do!” she exclaims, but there is a tone in her voice that seemed unsure of herself; it was enough for Koku to determine his feelings for her.

“You hesitated.”

“W-what?”

“When I asked you if you love me,  _ you. Hesitated _ .”

“I-I was only caught off guard!” She argues back. “It’s fucking obvious, isn’t it? From the way I treated you, from the way I kept telling you I love you, from the way I  _ cherish _ you? Hell, I flaunt your fucking the necklace you gave me around! Teikoku even asked the same question Weimar gave to me; and that is my answer! To protect our relationship!” Koku was so absorbed by her speaking that he didn’t even notice that they were holding hands.

He looks down at them, grey eyes full of uncertainty; he looks back as America starts talking once more, emotion in her voice and face. “To protect us. And to protect  _ you _ .” The strands of her dark blonde hair flow from the ever-living breeze, the setting sun illuminating her face. “I lied to those assholes, so we can preserve moments like this.”

She leans up and places a kiss on his left cheek, still holding hands with him. She presses her lips close to his ear, “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m trying hard to keep this entire relationship a secret, so you should  _ stop _ jumping to conclusions.” She lets go of his hands, and suddenly the fire within their touches fade.

“I-I’m sorry”, he tells her, “I should’ve—”

“Besides, it’s wrong to eavesdrop on other people, you know”, America cuts in coldly, walking past him. “C’mon, it’s getting late; your brother wouldn’t like it if you’re still at the park at six. God forbid.”

Koku should be walking and following her, but he was frozen in place; his mind was latching onto other things, like how they had  _ two _ arguments in one day (and both of them — especially this one — were mentally draining), the fragments of Weimar and America’s conversation he had heard, the way America is acting to him now (it was very distressing), and his ever-free mix of emotions.

_ How could you have accused America like that? You’re stupid! _

_ When will you learn that she has to  _ **_ lie _ ** _ for your own good? You’re not even doing anything for her! _

“Hey.” A voice snaps him out of all the bad and vile thoughts; Koku lifts his head and stares at America, turning her head to him. “Are ya lost on your own head?”

“No”, he replies weakly.

“Then quit moping!” She gives him a small smile, “You need to get a good night’s rest so we can continue on your dance lessons tomorrow; you’re kinda crap at it.”

He puts his hands on his pockets, “Alright, I’m coming.” Once he catches up to her, his mind considers placing his arms around her shoulders, but decides against it. He, instead, stares at America; how her green eyes were only focused on the road (and not at him— he didn’t know why his heart hurts), her hands idly limping, and how deep in thought she was.

She was beautiful— yet it didn’t stop Koku’s flawless and perfect perspective of her from cracking.

They didn’t hold hands for the rest of their walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alt. Chapter Title: Pan needs to get a new girlfriend


	23. We're Plastic But We Still Have Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America's guilt is a bitch.
> 
> **trigger warnings: dissociating, rape mention**

America  _ has felt _ guilt before, contrary to popular belief. It was Life’s fever, eternal and sickly, distracting her from her morals and work ethic— her mind emptying rational and useful thoughts, replacing it with the day she managed to put a hole on her and Koku’s relationship. Throughout her entire life, she had  _ never _ guilt tripped and manipulated someone like that; especially to a loved one.

Well, she had lightly manipulated a few people before, but… not to  _ that _ extent.   
  
Every time she closes her eyes for rest, she is forced to relentlessly remember the hurt faces Koku had pulled on her, especially when she acted cold towards him— she had no excuse for doing such a horrible move, something sickening and gut-twisting that even hours after she had accomplished such a feat she still felt like something was punching her stomach, her heart was still pumping, she was still sweating and her lungs are making it hard for her to breathe.

God, she’s a horrible person.

If she were her usual upbeat self, she would just tell herself that Teikoku is  _ way worse _ than her; yet she is not in her usual upbeat self.

Because she  _ knows _ and is  _ aware _ that Koku needs help, and she’s damaged him emotionally even further; she should have helped him distanced himself from Teikoku’s bad example, from his shitty and disgusting ways, and instead she lost it in front of — an obviously distressed — Koku and made  _ him _ guilty of accusing her of lying.

Basically, guilt is a bitch and it’s biting her in the ass.

“You look like shit today, Meri.” And who could have noticed it— none other than her brother, New Zealand.

She glares at him, “I look like shit everyday, how is this any different?”

“Because you always get over feeling like shit quickly”, he replies nonchalantly, “but you’ve been looking like shit since yesterday, when you walked in glaring at everything that moved.”

“I just had a… stressful day yesterday”, America says, waving her hands to emphasise her — nonexistent — point. “Maybe I still hadn’t gotten over it, y’know.”

“Damn, whatever Teikoku has been doing made you not get over it, huh?” He takes a sip of his cup of coffee. “Asshole.”

“He is”, she agrees, playing along. She turns to face New Zealand again. “I have a question.”

He sighs, “It better not be about Luxembourg again, Meri.”

“Nope”, she snickers, “I’m just wondering if — hypothetically — a cop can like…  _ hook up _ with a member of a gang…  _ hypothetically _ , of course.”

He stares at her for a moment. “... Haven’t you been doing that for years? Even when we were still with dad?”

She cringes at the memory of her and her father, “Oh yeah… I may have forgotten, haha.”

“Are you…  _ sure _ you’re okay, Meri?”

His sister groans and ruffles his hair fondly, “Your big sister is fine, she just has  _ a lot _ on her plate; also I have another question: can you say the words ‘I’m sorry’ to someone you manipulated out of anger?”

“...Why are you asking me that?”

“In a  _ possible _ situation, of course”, she saves herself, “like, we were both arguing, I said mean things to make them feel guilty and damaged our relatio—  _ friendship _ ? Am I still okay to say ‘I’m Sorry’?”

“...You blew off on someone did you.”

A pause.

“...Yeah.”

“Why are you feeling guilty about guilt tripping one of Teikoku’s family members?” New Zealand is smart and perceptive like that; able to pick up on certain cues and situations and deduce something behind them. “Did you guilt trip their baby? Is that why you felt like shit since yesterday?”

“I would  _ never _ manipulate a baby”, she says, offended by that remark. “I’m talking about… Koku.” She had no basic control over her mouth at that point, and keeping it shut will rouse more questions in Kiwi’s own mouth.

“What about him?”

“I uh… he overheard me and Weimar talking about him and… he got hurt so we argued on the way back to his home.”

“Why, does he think your boyfriend and girlfriend or something?” He narrows his eyes and raises a brow at her, crossing his arms.

Beads of sweat come rolling down on her face; she gulps a little. “N-No, he just thought I was a friend of his— if you met him, you can see that he’s very naive.

“Then why are you feeling sorry?” he asks, raising a hand.

“What do you mean?”

“This… ‘Koku’ is Teikoku’s  _ brother _ ; that means that he must also be good at manipulating and acting like him. He must’ve made you feel guilty at him by just summoning the water works. If anything, you’re just… manipulating each other until one of you caves.”

America was silent for a few seconds— in all her life, she has never heard one of the closest people to her callously assume a trait that is  _ so _ far away from the original, to the point that even  _ she _ thinks that this generalised assumption was absurd as fuck. “I’ve been watching and observing him for a month, and he’s been the brunt of Teikoku’s abuse— if he  _ was _ a ‘master manipulator’, as you call him, he would have known if his brother was doing the same to him or not.”

Kiwi takes another mouthful of coffee, silently thinking about her answer. “You like him, don’t you?”

She was… not expecting him to change the subject so quickly. “Of course not!” She scoffs, shoving a fistful of hair out of her vision (she didn’t have the energy to brush her hair properly). “I’m just guilty as fuck of what I said to him.”

He peers at her suspiciously, “You sure no feelings are erupting between you two?”

“Nope!” She says in a high-pitched voice; since  _ when _ was she bad at lying? “We — or rather,  _ him _ — are just friends.”

“I hope so”, he sighs, “and to answer the question we have derailed, sure, you can say ‘I’m Sorry’ to him, but you have to  _ mean it _ ; and you should probably bring a gift to signify how apologetic you are.”

She scratches her hair, “Uh, okay. Thanks for the advice.” She tilts her head. “How’s Australia?”

“He’s not okay, but not ready to pulverise everything in his path”, he says, “he might be okay for work tomorrow or the day after.”

“And not angry at me?”

“I’m not sure about that.”

She slumps onto her desk, rolling her eyes. “Of course.”

* * *

As she walks towards the Nippon Mansion, the knot in her stomach keeps on tingling and tightening in on itself; she stops walking a distance away from her destination, her guilt pooling and climbing up at her like a virus trying to weaken her immune system. Her mouth curls, but she tries to continue on walking, even when her legs are trembling. What shocked her the most was that Koku was still waiting for her, wearing a jacket, and leaning at the front gates.

(She could feel her hopes rise up, no matter how much she had to quell it down.)

So, she continues walking, until Koku’s sights (he was previously looking at the ground with a sullen face) are now on her. She plastered a natural smile on her face, as she walked up to him.

“Hey.” She… didn’t know how to make this more awkward.

He nods, his expression unreadable and eyes empty. “Hey.”

Awkwardness ensues.

For the sake of their relationship and obliterating the tense air around the pair, she gives him a small smile. “How have you been?”

He turns his head to the side; if she hadn’t caught up with his body language already, she wouldn’t have known he was avoiding eye contact with her. “Good.”

She bites her lip and inclines her head to look at the skies— it seemed that they were imitating the colour of Koku’s eyes, as they were grey, dull, and  _ dead _ . She feels her mind race with her regrets. “...How good?”

(The most awkward conversation they ever have yet.)

He furrows his brows, fixing his glasses. “I’m fine.”

“If you say so.” She shrugs; she wanted to disappear from his sight and go back another day, knowing that wounds are still open and aren’t ready to heal, but she has a job to do.

“My brother told me that we’re going to visit the tailors today”, he speaks up in an empty tone, crossing his arms; his grey eyes staring ahead, completely avoiding her gaze.

Something’s off about him.

“For the party?” She attempted to hold the conversation, but Koku didn’t even reply and continued on walking.

As he walks a few more metres away from her and the house, she knows that there’s something wrong with him.

She frowns as he watches him go— he didn’t even look back, didn’t even get his eyes off the ground, and didn’t even notice when the rain started pouring upon them like a thousand tears sliding into existence.

-

America had to get an umbrella.

As soon as she realises Koku won’t stop walking (she’s tried everything, from shouting his name, from running up to him and pulling him back, but the only reaction she had gotten out of that was being pushed onto the pavement, grazing her elbow), she hurries over to a local umbrella shop and buys the cheapest one to keep her and Koku — who is now partially wet — dry.

(That was a useless thing to buy.)

She turns her ire over Koku to concern, “Hey, are you sure you’re alright?”

He only stares listlessly at the pavement, darkened by the sorrowful skies. “...I don’t know.”

She sighs, knowing his attitude today must’ve been because of what had transpired yesterday, so she stares at him, dead in the eye. “Look, I know what I did was crappy and such a wrong move, and there are no excuses for that kind of behaviour. But I came back here to tell you how I felt so bad about yesterday, and I want to own up to my shitty behaviour.”

He didn’t even respond; he kept on staring at the pavement like it was the most entertaining thing to have ever existed. She thinks that he didn’t even hear her say anything.

America just stares dejectedly at the ground, “Let’s go to some ramen restaurant or get boba tea before visiting the tailors. We can’t have you ruin their mood.”

She realised that that wasn’t a good joke, but at least Koku follows her to the nearest cafe.

(There were no nearby ramen restaurants or boba tea shops, and it was getting cold due to the heavy rain, give her a break.)

“Alright”, she takes a breather before putting her thoroughly wet umbrella on one of the shelves at the front. She turns to face Koku with a slight smile, hoping it would cheer him up. “Let’s find ourselves some seats.”

After finding themselves a seat near the entrance, America stands back up, realising Koku is not ready to open up and have a conversation with her. He was staring listlessly at the table, fumbling with his fingers. “I’m going to order, what kind of boba tea would you like?”

“...Anything.” At least he answered.

“All right”, she replies enthusiastically, trying to sound upbeat. As she falls in line and read out the menu right in front of her, she kept on whipping her head to look at Koku, still staring emptily and emotionlessly, his glasses falling off of the bridge of his nose, yet he didn’t do anything to fix signs of literal inconsistency.

She needs to find out how to rouse his attention and make him forgive her, fast.

“What are you doing here, America?” A familiar voice over the counter asks; as she turns her head back to identify the speaker, she realised she was already at the front line, and right in front of—

“Mongolia”, she acknowledges, scratching her head, “didn’t know you work at a cafe.”

“I don’t ‘work’ at a cafe, I  _ own _ the cafe”, he replies snootily. “Anyways, I see you came here with Koku.” His eyes drift from her and at said person, still not moving after minutes.

“ _ No, _ we’re not on a date”, she hisses in a low voice, “and it’s none of your business.”

He raises a brow, a smirk playing upon his lips. “I wasn’t gonna ask that, but you answered my suspicions yourself.”

She goes red, “Just ask me that generic question you ask customers everyday.”

“Of course”, he rolls his eyes, before fulfilling his role. “Hello, welcome to the Blue Skies Cafe, may I take your order?”

“Yeah, I’d like two cups of espresso”, she answers.

“Coming right up!” he replies enthusiastically, “may I have your name?”

“...America Anglo.”

“Coming right up Miss Anglo!”

She wants to strangle Mongolia again.

As America walks back towards her and Koku’s table, she notices something about him as she approaches— he seemed more attentive to his surroundings, his grey eyes lit up in confusion, as his hands grip tightly at the table. It seems he had snapped out of his funk; to her relief.

“Hey Koku”, she smiles as she sits down across from him, his eyes flickering towards her.

Koku jolts at her appearance, “Where… did you come from?”

She gives him a confused look. “I’ve been here for a while?”

“W-Where are we?” he asks, slightly upset.

“Uh… at a cafe? Don’t you remember walking here?”

“No, but I feel cold”, he replies coldly, “and I remember only feeling anger and guilt at  _ you _ .”

“Are you serious? You didn’t remember anything  _ after _ yesterday? We were literally walking in the rain a while ago, it’s why you got wet.”

“I  _ ran _ into the rain?” he repeats, like it was the most ludicrous thing that he could do. “That’s preposterous.”

Her patience runs thin, perplexed at Koku’s now awful memory. “Do you feel wet and cold? That’s because you literally walked in the rain. How come you don’t remember?”

Koku stares back at the ground, looking upset, “...The only thing I remembered was passing out on my desk last night.” He observes his slightly drenched clothes and fixes his glasses’ position. “I must have dissociated… again.”

“Oh.” She slaps herself in the face; how could she not have grappled upon it sooner? How could she not have thought about that alternative? How could she let him be in that state?

He yawns, "God, I feel tired."

“Here’s your order, Madame Anglo”, Mongolia interrupts her inner guilt and turmoil by sashaying towards their table and giving them her destined order. “Two cups of espresso for you and your beloved boyfriend.”

She glares at him acidly while Koku stares at him in confusion. He gives her a mischievous smile as he places her order on the table and goes back to ruin another person’s life. America doesn’t  _ particularly _ dislike him, but she also does not like him for the shit he pulled and the notoriety he gained from his crimes. She stares at the name tag plastered on the cups; much to her confusion, it read  _ Карен XD _ . She didn’t know what it meant but she thinks Mongolia just called her Karen.

(Her utter neutrality for him turned to a momentary burning hatred in seconds.)

Koku stares at his expresso, “I didn’t order coffee.”

“I did for your sake”, she sighs, leaning on her seat, “you were just blanked out.”

He glares at her, “And you didn’t think to ask  _ once _ if I was okay?”

Her guilt erupts like a volcano. “I  _ did _ , but you responded with an ‘I’m fine’, so…”

“Sometimes that means they’re not fine, America.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, “And sometimes your friends will back out when they hear such an abrupt lie. They don’t have time to play games with you, so you gotta be straightforward.”

“You’re so insensitive.” He takes a sip of his coffee, glaring at her. “You don’t care about other people’s feelings.”

“ _ I care _ ”, she corrects, “but I don’t want to play games — just get straight to the point if you want me to comfort you.”

(Her mental image of Koku she keeps inside her mind starts to crack.)

“If I had been dissociating, then that’s enough of you to tell that I’m  _ not _ okay.” His face softens, “Never had been.”

Her impatient expression slowly morphs into one of pity. “I know… I was being a dumbass and didn’t even consider how you feel— how you  _ really _ feel.” Her fingers managed to subconsciously find his, and she stares into those stormy grey eyes she used to get lost in. “And I feel guilty of what happened between us, of what I did to you.”

“You never did anything to me”, he replies, softening a little. His fingers entwine with hers, and warmth resonates within the pair. “ _ I _ was the one jumping to conclusions, remember?”

“I should’ve worded my sentence less harshly”, she responds, taking a deep breath to keep the both of them calm. “I didn’t mean to get angry at you; I was just stressed and in the heat of the moment.”

“I’m sorry for getting angry as well”, Koku apologises, also looking very guilty, like he had committed a horrendous crime. “I shouldn’t have avoided you and made assumptions like that.”

“Okay, let’s promise each other this; we will be able to tell the truth of ourselves and our feelings to each other”, she says— somehow she felt a weird taste in her mouth when saying that. There was something sweet and bitter in her mouth.

And now she feels horrible for lying to him.

He gives her a small smile, cocking his head to the side. “I promise.”

They wrap this little dilemma in their relationship by drinking their respective cups of coffee, staring into each other's eyes, the forest and the storm remeeting once again.

Even when apologising to him, she still felt guilt claim its throne, numbing her brain cells with its pure negative vibes and general discomfort in her mind, body and soul. She felt like a stranger to him, like a patient waking up in a hospital and right next to them was a stranger directly involved in a crime. Even when walking near him to the point their fingertips brushed (it seems he was still not comfortable with holding her hand), she felt just a small tinge of warmth… and then it left like fire.

“Where are we going?” He asks, confused and struggling to recollect the past events.

“Oh, I remember you told me that Teikoku said you got to visit your tailors”, America answers, “but I don’t know where they are.”

“Tailors?” He furrows his brow in confusion, before his face lights up. “Oh right, the tailors!”

“Do you know  _ where _ it is?”

“Yes, come on”, he says — finally — holding her hand, which caused her to go red.

As Koku guides them to their destination, emerald green eyes follow them with suspicion until they vanish from their sight.

“Ezo, I’m back!” He greets as he opens the door for the pair.

America is immediately greeted with the smell of new and old fabric intermixing in the air; it was soothingly warm, the kind of warm you would mostly expect from a cup of coffee or intimate hand holding. It was like a fresh rainstorm breathed into her with warmth, combined with the smell of clothes being made. She honestly thinks this place was comforting and can be used for brainstorming.

A woman in her middle ages in front of them jumps once Koku speaks, scattering dozens of fabric to the floors.

“Oh no, I’m sorry”, Koku exclaims, kneeling and helping the woman clean up the mess on the floor. He takes this as a way to open up a conversation. “How have you been, Ezo?”

“I’m fine”, the woman — Ezo — replies with a tired smile. “Me and my co-workers just received an influx of requests for suits and dresses.” She sighs, pulling at her hair strings. “They didn’t like my first few designs for them and forced me and the others to make new ones.”

“That’s absolutely rude of them to do”, Koku says, giving the woman the remainder of the fabric she had dropped.

She lightly touches his clothes, before her face changes to a concerned look. "Koku, your clothes are all wet!" 

"It's fine, it'll dry off in a few hours or so." He replies. “I’m just here to see how me and my family’s clothes are doing.”

Her eyes light up, “Of course! How can I forget; right this way Koku.” Before even guiding him to the backs of the shop, her dark eyes shift to America, standing idly and awkwardly. Ezo’s entire posture stiffens quickly, and she almost drops the fabrics she was holding again. “It’s…  _ you _ .”

America has  _ never _ seen this woman in her life before; but her mind tells her that she is  _ familiar _ , somewhat. “I have no idea who you are, lady.”

Ezo stares at her again, before shaking her head and telling Koku (who was also intrigued by the exchange) to meet with her other co-workers for a last-adjustment measuring and overviewing their formal attire, telling him that she and America need to talk.

(About what?)

“Are you going to be okay?” Koku calls out to her, his face wearing the same worried look he gave her when Weimar wanted to talk to her.

She gives him a reassuring smile; this was just an elderly woman, she can defend herself against Ezo in no time. “Of course I’ll be okay! Have fun with your new friends!”

He rolls his eyes, “I  _ will _ have fun!” Those were his last words before he disappeared behind the thick curtains.

All that was left was America and Ezo, whose toying with her fingers, her lips trembling. She can hear the sound of chattering beyond the curtains, realising how awkward their situation is.

“How do you even know me?” She starts this conversation, hoping to get some answers from this woman. “We never met. Or did we? I dunno either, ‘cause most of the years have been a blur to me.”

Ezo lets out a dry laugh, “Of course you don;’t remember me much— however, I remembered you watching me as I reported my case to your chief.”

America furrows her brows, trying to recollect the scene the woman had reminisced. “So we met a few years ago, before I was chief.”

“You were…  _ different _ back then”, Ezo states, retrieving a mug of coffee on her desk, taking a sip. “Less confident, less impulsive, and less obvious to the naked eye.”

“I have  _ no _ idea who you are”, America cuts in rudely, her confused look morphing into one of suspicion, “why does  _ your _ life have anything to do with mine?”

“My life — well, half of it — has something to do with that boy you just escorted in here”, Ezo nods towards the closed curtains.

She raises a brow, her suspicion decreasing; it seems that  _ everyone _ has a problem with the Nippon family. “What about him?”

Ezo plays with her fingers, looking anxious, before speaking again, “Is Hokkaido alright?”

“What about him?” Now she’s  _ both _ confused and suspicious of this woman.

“Is Teikoku hurting him?” She asks in a low voice that America couldn’t almost hear her.

She shrugs; unlike her relationships with Palau and Koku, she was never really close with Hokkaido and Okinawa, because the former was closed off from others and the latter was a  _ baby _ . “Well, it’s Teikoku; ya think he’s going to go soft on his own kids?”

The woman in front of her suddenly looks worried. “I’m worried for my son… but I’m not surprised.”

Her eyes widened in surprise;  _ now _ she remembers who Ezo was.

_ “You can’t just waltz in here and say Teikoku, the son of Tokugawa, locked you in and forced you into sex”, her boss told the woman in front of the counter. For such a young woman, she seemed to have aged just in a night, with her hair wild, clothes disheveled and torn, her eyes red and dark circles underneath her eyes. “Your report is  _ ridiculous _.” He raised his arms, “And you only told us  _ now?  _ You could've told us a decade ago!” _

_"B-but sir", she stammers, fidgeting with her fingers, "he took my baby and I was wondering if--"_

_"He took your_ baby _?" he laughs coldly, "give me a break you bitch. A rape case can ruin a man's life, and I know if you're lying or not_ _, you fucking whore."_

_ The woman just stood there helplessly; meanwhile America only stared at her with no emotions, trying to grasp the fact that someone had experienced the same thing she did. _

“You were that woman who wanted us to watch over Hokkaido, like a bodyguard.” She realises, her eyes wide with wonder and regret. She scratches her head, “I’m sorry for ignoring your request.”

“It’s alright, because you came in with Koku”, she perks up, “did you learn anything from Teikoku?”

“Well, he’s got a doomsday device planned, but that’s it”, she says, before her face softens, “Ezo, I’m sorry for being such a bitch to you, but I can assure you, Hokkaido is doing fine— well, as fine as he could be under Teikoku. He’s a smart kid.”

The older woman lightly smiles, her dark eyes twinkling. “I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, but I miss my son so much…” Her expression becomes melancholic, her voice breaking. “I’ve never seen him since that monster took him from me.”

“Then we’ll get him back”, America replies, determined.

“I don’t think it’s an easy task.” She takes another sip of coffee. “But can you tell me how old my son is now? It’s been years since I last saw him, and I have now lost count of his and my age over the years.”

“Probably in his late teens; like sixteen or seventeen”, America replies with a flick of her hand, “from what I observed, he’s pretty closed off and acts more as a babysitter towards his younger half-siblings. I won’t be surprised if he studies in his spare time."

Ezo chuckles, “Ah, he must’ve taken after me; wanting and desiring peace and quiet while studying.”

“I mean Teikoku forces him to study.”

Her face blanks as she processes this new information. “Oh.”

America takes the opening as a chance, “I doubt you called me here to talk about your son, so what  _ do you _ want?”

Ezo sighs, taking a breather, before resuming her conversation. “I want to ask; what are you doing with Teikoku’s brother?”

America’s eyes flit around, wanting to make sure no one was watching them, before leaning in, her voice low. “I got caught up in another case involving a child’s missing mother; me and my brothers are trying to figure out Teikoku’s plans now, so it’s  _ not _ just that missing case that’s on the line.”

“So you applied to become Koku’s bodyguard, correct?” Ezo asks, raising a brow.

She nods, “Yeah, although… he seems oblivious to the shit his brother pulled though, so he isn’t very  _ reliable _ .”

“I noticed that too”, Ezo agrees, “I was… very on edge when I first saw him enter my shop, but he’s so oblivious and didn’t even strike a conversation with me until after he was comfortable in doing so.” She puts a stray strand of her hair back into place, clutching at her cup of coffee. “He may look harmless, but he is far from it.”

America’s mind flashes to the memory of Koku hitting bullseye in a single attempt. She sighs, “Tell me about it.”

Ezo puts a smile and a hopeful look on her face, “Do you think I can be reunited with my son once again?”

She shrugs, “It’s highly plausible, you know.”

“I just… I wish I could see him, touch him and tell him how much I love him again and again.” Her hands start to shake and the coffee inside of the mug starts to slosh from the movement, her lips trembling. “I feel like I abandoned him on the side of the road to die, and it’s all my fault. If I had just—”

“Look”, America interrupts her, not in the mood to be preachy, “I get that you’re upset and want your kid back, but you won’t be doing anything just whining and making sure Teikoku doesn’t catch you;  _ you _ need to make a move or a plan just to see your son for one last time, even if the building is got bombed or if he doesn’t remember you. I get it: you were assaulted by Teikoku, and it wasn’t your fault. But it wasn’t your fault when he took your son from you. He’s to blame, not you.”

Ezo stares at her with a dismal look, before shaking it off to a lost face. “It’s no use; Teikoku knows where I am. He’s been watching me, even after promising me that I won’t be a part of his life anymore. He is like that.”

“Then I’ll try culminating enough evidence to get him arrested”, America replies with a determined look, “I’ve been trying to gather as much data as possible, even when he took most of it from me.”

The elder woman places her hands on her lap, a calm and peaceful look on her face. “I doubt that you can manage to topple his throne single handedly, but I will be rooting and praying for your success.”

America raises a brow, smiling. “Thanks for the encouragement.”

She smiles, dark eyes glinting with delight, “Of course.”

Koku appears from the curtains, his hair slightly messier than before but there was a smile sitting there on his face. “Hey Ezo, I’m done— the outfits are all pretty much outstanding and beautiful, as always!”

Ezo’s face lights up with happiness, nodding. “Why thank you, Koku; when will you be able to pick them up?”

“Probably a week or two from now”, he says, “we don’t want to keep Teikoku waiting.”

America glimpses Ezo jumping once he says his brother’s name.

“N-naturally”, the woman stutters, her hands shaking once again. Koku — unsurprisingly — did not catch on her body language. “We’ll have it shipped to your home after we’ve done final adjustments.”

“Thank you”, Koku replies, before turning his head to America. “Was Ezo being kind to you?”

“Yeah, she’s nice”, America gives him a nonchalant smile. “Gave me advice and that kind of thing. We’re both similar in different ways.”

“That’s nice to hear”, Koku replies, turning to Ezo, who was trying to look casual despite her posture being everything but casual. “We’ll be taking our leave now, I’ll see you again.”

She gives her customer a wavering smile, “You both go and be safe.”

“We will”, America replies, as their hands brush while leaving her shop side-by-side.

“What did you two talk about, really?” She looks at Koku skeptically— his eyes were focused on the pavement, but his smile has already faded from his face.

(She liked it when he smiled; she felt like the sun was brushing its fingers against her face.)

“Why ask?” she asks casually.

Koku’s gaze meets hers. “I heard you talking about me, again.”

America was slightly surprised that he managed to form a word or two from her and Ezo’s quiet conversation, but she knows that she’ll have to lie. She tries to look undeterred, holding his eye contact. “I was talking about how happy I was with you.” Her throat seems to be set on fire by that lie, but she tries a small smile. “I love the way you make me feel, the way you just… seem to enter my thoughts whenever I’m off guard, and if I like you or…  _ love _ you.”

His face lights up, rapidly convinced by the lie— yet her conscience is not buying this injustice, seeing Koku being manipulated and lied to again. “What do you think about this relationship?”

She pauses for a moment, before acting casual again. “I don’t know yet; we’ve only been together for a month or so, so it’d be safe to say we’re still in the boundaries of just… liking each other, if you understand.”

His smile grows wider, “I understand; it’s my first time doing…  _ this _ .” He gently holds her hand, even catching her unprepared. “And I want to take this as slow as possible.” Koku furrows his brows, “And if we break up… that’s okay too, since I experienced something I haven’t.”

“You are really different”, America tries to compliment him, fishing for words. “For some reason, you’re very unique and uplifting.”

He shrugs, seemingly unhindered by her attempt to compliment the man. “I like you.” His eyes light up, presumably coming up with a brilliant plan. “Let’s go to the hilltop where me and my family used to have picnics on; it has the perfect view of the city.”

“Sure, why not.” Still holding her hand, he leads her from across the city, dodging civilians living ordinary lives, obeying traffic lights and pisisng off some drivers that got in their way (Koku was more horrified while America had the best time making faces at them).

America smiles along with Koku, who was excited to show her a place he had deemed as special in his memories, but all she could just think about was the fact she had lied to him again. She could still feel her guilt — it never really left when she apologised — entangling more and more knots in her stomach, suffocating the butterflies she had and spreading in her insides like a plague.

Guilt really is a fever; a fever on the conscience, feeding off of her happiness and replacing it with the errors of her ways. Somehow, even the warmth that had been spreading from Koku’s hand to hers was stopped by her colder and more powerful shame, knowing this could only be cured with her finally spilling everything to Koku— and that would make him lose his trust and break him.

God, she hates her life; why does it have to be so  _ complicated _ ?

The only thing she could do is fake being happy for him as their legs carry them to their destination; she had been so busy wallowing in her own contrition that she felt like she was floating in her standards and principles, all rules she used to follow in her life echoing. She groans as her foot accidentally hits a pebble; she staggers forwards, snapping her back to reality as she tries to gain equal footing. Luckily — or, much to her embarrassment — she falls onto Koku, and she feels strong arms manage to catch her on time.

She can feel damp grass snaring her dry skin (probably from the rain earlier), but all she could see Koku’s body, heat rising on her cheeks.

“Are you alright?” he asks, concerned, written over his features, “you were spacing out, like you were thinking about something.”

“I’m okay”, she replies an octave higher, but still not pulling away from his arms. “I’m just… stressed and shit.”

“I understand”, he nods, “that’s why I brought ourselves here; we both had a really bad couple of days, haven’t we?”

“We have”, she agrees, before adding to her sentiments, “I’ll try and notice how you’re not okay and make it better for you, alright? I still feel like shit when I realised you were dissociating and I didn’t do anything about it.”

“It’s okay”, he averts his gaze, “I don’t need help.”

“You do”, she argues, “stop saying that.”

“Teikoku’s the only person who can help me”, he says, “but I can’t ask him for help; I’m an  _ adult _ now.”

She sighs, remembering how much words it needs to get him convinced, “You can seek help in others too, like me.” She embraces him. “You don’t have to suffer in silence anymore.”

“I shouldn’t burden you”, he wraps his arms around her, “you have so much to do.”

“Yeah, and that includes prioritising you and taking care of you”, she replies, snuggling herself up on his body, exhaling at his warmth. “You’re not a burden to me. Not ever.”

She looks up at him, green eyes glinting. She didn’t have to look down from the hill to compare her view to the hill’s view, knowing that Koku can best any kind of spectacle the entire world can ever give her.

He was like the sunset; she’s seen him thousands of times, yet still kept getting distracted at him.

America closes the gap between their lips, standing on her tiptoes and pulling his face to hers; even his mouth was bittersweet, just like today’s events.

A gust of cold wind made her shiver, but she still continued to kiss Koku, warmth touching her, keeping her away from the cold for a short while.

Unbeknowsnt to them, a pair of emerald green eyes flying across the sunset were watching the pair.

* * *

“You look…  _ dazed _ ”, New Zealand states once she enters the police department, raising a brow, “and why are you wearing an oversized jacket?”

She stops herself from snuggling up in Koku’s jacket (he had given it to her when they reached his home, noticing how cold she was; it was slightly damp but due to its owner she felt snug). “‘Cause it’s cold outside.”

“... _ Who _ gave you that jacket?” he presses, incredulous.

“Koku did.” How come she can tell the truth to her brothers and not her boyfriend?

Every time America she answers him truthfully, his face morphs to a more disbelieving look. “Why are you  _ wearing  _ it?”

She stares at her brother, unblinking. “Why not?”

“It’s from  _ Koku _ ”, he exaggerates that last word, waving his arms around. “Brother of Teikoku, the most  _ notorious _ man in this City? What were you  _ thinking _ when you were putting that on?!”

She thinks for a moment before shrugging, “That he was being nice?”

“What the—” He drops his phone to the floor from sheer shock before picking it up. “He was  _ NOT _ being nice! Didn’t you already learn your lesson?”

“Yeah he really is”, she rolls her eyes, “if you actually  _ met _ him and not made assumptions of him, he’s a nice person, just in denial that his brother’s an asshole.”

“What the  _ hell _ America!” He exclaims, actually furious and irritated. “He still might be manipulating you!”

“ _ I’m _ the one who manipulated him”, she says, taking a whiff of Koku’s remaining scent to calm herself down. “He doesn’t even know  _ how _ to differentiate compliments from insults; just leave him be.”

“What if he put a tracker on the jacket?”

“Checked and there’s none.”

“Earpiece?”

“Nope.”

“Bomb?”

“ _ Nada _ .”

“America, what’s gotten into you?” he groans, “you’ve been getting more and more defensive of Koku as the days go by. What’s your relationship with him, really?”

“Great friend”, she replies, unruffled, with a composed expression. She ruffles New Zealand’s hair, “reminds me of you and Australia.”

New Zealand was about to protest, but Philip appeared at the doorway, looking breathless and surprised.

“What’s wrong Phil?” she asks, relieved for the topic to change.

“Australia, he’s outside!” He answers between deep breaths.

“Finally managed to come to his senses, huh?” America says, but is actually relieved that Australia was back; she wanted to make a conversation and also apologise for the mess she had caused.

New Zealand elbows her, the same time Philip continues, “And he brought  _ Canada _ with him.”

No words could describe how surprised they are; America goggles at Philip while New Zealand drops his phone again out of sheer shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	24. I Left My Head And My Heart On The Dance Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Australia and New Zealand follow America and Japan around for answers.

It was surreal to see Canada back at the station— not as the esteemed officer he used to be, but as a suspicious person who left his sister to die.

When America and New Zealand followed Philip down the halls and into the reception area, they didn’t quite believe their missing brother would just willingly turn himself in without a fight; even if he’d be fighting a still-recovering Australia. Her heart raced and her mind was spilling out a single thought every millisecond. She didn’t know how to react if she ever saw Canada’s stupid face again— should she just hit him or give him a hug?

She mentally scowled as her mind spat out an image of her hugging a kidnapper and a murderer; punching him is the best way to get her point across then.

When they got there, she suddenly realised that she was mentally unprepared to see one brother who avoided her and one brother who tried to kill them in the same room; she almost falters when she sees them talking…  _ normally _ , like they are acquaintances and had been apart for long. It was slightly bothering her, but there was nothing a good facade and composure could fix, as she slowly approached them.

As she drew closer, she could notice a few things different about Australia and Canada’s appearance and the aura they radiate off in the room.

Beneath Australia’s eyes were dark circles (presumably due to lack of sleep), his eyes — which usually gives off a mischievous or jovial vibe — were just tired and droopy, his clothes were wrinkled and looked unwashed, his hair was even messier than usual. His knuckles were the colour of red, like he had hit or punched a wall many times (she sincerely hopes he didn’t do that in front of Villers), and he was close to falling asleep.

Meanwhile, Canada’s injuries are  _ very _ perplexing; he has a black eye, a crooked nose he didn’t have before, a swollen upper lip, a few bruises turning purple on his arms and legs, a crimson-covered shirt tied on his stomach, a few minor knife or stab wounds, and a  _ stunning _ (hint at the sarcasm) new haircut that looked like he wanted to go bald but missed a few locks of his hair. Despite all this, he looks casual, but shifts his stance whenever he flinches or stiffens.

“Holy shit Canada, what happened to you?” New Zealand breaks their conversation, causing the pair to look up at the newcomers.

Canada gives him a toothy smile; and reveals to them a tooth gap he  _ never _ had before. “Do you want the long story or the shorter version?”

“Where’s Villers?” America asks Australia, struggling to stay awake.

“She didn’t want to be alone in the house again — for valid reasons — so when we got a visit from this cunt here I let her spend time with Robin to keep her company.” He replies between yawns, closing his eyes before snapping himself awake with a snort.

Kiwi narrows his eyes at Canada, “Let’s save your tale at the interrogation tomorrow.”

His older brother laughs, flicking a — bloodied — hand at him, “Alright alright.” He turns his head towards his elder sister, and his dark green eyes brimming with confidence immediately drains.

(She has that effect on people.)

“Hey Canada.” America glares at her brother.

“A-America.” She was very pleased — and surprised — to hear that stutter come out of Canada’s mouth. Instead of leaving it at an awkward greeting however, he presses on, “so… about that demolition and setting on fire thing—”

“Yeah, I’m still angry at you”, she says smugly, taking pleasure at the way his eyes burn with excuses and apologies, “I didn’t forget about that.”

Before Australia could snap himself back into consciousness, she tackles Canada and, fists clenched, starts to hit her brother repeatedly in the face, letting go of all the anger and hurt he had caused her, of the trust he had broken that day. Her mind instantly plunges her back into that burning building, choking and suffocating her with the smoke and burning her with the flames; but this time, she’s beating her treacherous brother up and bringing him down with her.

She hears Kiwi’s screams, but they were so far away; she feels strong arms wrap around her and break her away from her brother, and she flails, still wanting Canada to feel what she had to feel.

“Oi, Meri, stop flailing”, she hears Australia’s sleepy voice— this time loud and clear.

Begrudgingly, she does, and she is returned back to the ground by her brother (she hates how all of her younger brothers are so tall; tall enough to scoop her up). She glares at Canada, who was being nursed by Kiwi; he was massaging his nose, groaning from pain (she hopes she broke it).

“Why are you even here in the first place?” She asks with a raised brow. “‘Cause you ‘ _ miss _ ’ us even when  _ you _ abandoned your family in the first place?”

“I didn’t have a choice, damn it”, Canada answers back with a biting tone. “We  _ needed _ to get more answers for the case, don’t we?”

“You have been kidnapping children for years”, Australia deadpans; it was one of those rare times where he’s serious, and it surprised America a bit.

“A… part time job.”

“That ‘part-time job’ is fucked”, Kiwi states bluntly, placing a finger gingerly on his nose bridge; his brother groans and slaps his hand away. “Why were you even doing that in the first place?”

“For my mom”, he says it softly and hesitantly, that almost no one heard it.

“Well who’s your mom? It’s kind of clear our dad went around fucking everything with a hole.” Her mind miraculously does not give her another image of a past she wanted to forget about.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Come  _ on _ ”, Kiwi presses, “my mom was an actress who had to escape dad.”

“My mom killed herself after she gave birth to me”, Australia butts in.

“My mom is the fucking  _ Netherlands _ ”, America says, “so whoever your mom is — or  _ was _ — it’s not hard to not believe in it.”

He sighs, defeated. “France. France was my mother; you may as well know her as Dad’s biggest rival back in the day.”

...She takes her words back; that was very  _ hard _ to believe.

Kiwi stares at him, aghast. “Britain and  _ the _ France had  _ you _ ?”

Canada scowls, “When I found out it was hard to believe at first.”

“How did they even  _ manage _ being on bed—”

“Can you stop?” All her brothers say at once, their deadpan stares directed at their sister.

“All right fine, geez.” She rolls her eyes, scoffing. “Just trying to lighten up the mood.”

“Thanks a lot for breaking his nose Meri”, Kiwi says, tending to Canada’s new bruise, “now we gotta take him to the hospital.”

“I ended up hospitalised by him too!” America defends herself. “He deserved it!”

“He’s not going to do an interrogation with a  _ broken nose _ ”, Kiwi states, and turns to Australia, “can you start the car?”

He takes a few seconds to answer that question. “Um, sure, give me a mom—” He drops to the floor with a thud, out cold.

Kiwi turns to America. “Get the keys in his pocket.”

She nods, sighing. “Righto.”

“So when is Canada free to leave the hospital again?” America asks, leaning on the walls for support as Kiwi opens the door from Canada’s hospital room.

(America still couldn’t believe Kiwi made her pay for his hospital bills; he should be the one who paid her bills when she was confined in this brain damaging place.)

“Probably tomorrow or the day after”, Kiwi replies, his eyes locked on his phone. “After that he’ll take a day of rest, then we can start the interrogation.”

“You’re being too kind on him”, she scowls, looking at her fingernails. “He deserved that broken nose.”

He gives his sister a pointed look. “He does, but at least  _ you _ paid for his hospital bills.” He snickers as she stews in the corner, grumbling.

“I don’t trust him”, she states, “he must have came back to spy on us for his mom.”

“He looks like shit though, you gotta feel sorry for him.”

“He does look like he got into a fight with cars”, she shrugs, “and he was unrecognisable when he first came in.”

“It was probably that  _ horrible _ haircut.”

She snickers, “We all know that our self-respecting Canada would never  _ dare _ try shaving his head off all by his own.”

They both laugh at their jokes.

“But seriously, do you trust that guy?” Her face scrunches up a little. “Still seems shady to me.”

“Let’s give him the benefit of doubt”, Kiwi shrugs, turning his phone on. “He came back to us to talk about  _ something _ ; maybe he has something urgent to tell us.”

“Possibly”, she says smartly, before staring at her watch— seven in the evening. “Are you gonna stay here?”

He nods, “Yeah, until visiting hours is over; just drive Australia back to his home and pick Villers up on your way there, alright?”

She nods, “Yeah, I’ll bring them home.” She frowns. “What about you?”

He chuckles. “I have my own way home, don’t worry about me.”

America rolls her eyes, trying to act aloof, “I’m not  _ worried _ — just concerned about my baby brother’s welfare.”

Kiwi visibly scowls at the words ‘baby brother’ (he never liked being reminded of being the youngest member in this family). “Don’t push it, Meri.”

She smirks, before walking away to collect Australia (who had been slumping on the guard’s desk earlier) and start the car.

  
  


She slides the front side window down until she thinks it’s enough for Robin to hear her (apart from the Indies music playing in the background) say, “I’m here to pick Villers up.”

The girl immediately calls her friend, who stumbles out of the door, wearing a dress that covers every inch of her skin. America flinches at her appearance; her dark blonde hair was unruly and messy, she had dark circles underneath her eyes, and she flinches and jumps at every touch or small talk her friend had tried on her, before she calms her down. She gulps down the last of her regrets— she wants to apologise, but she didn’t know  _ how _ to.

“W-where’s Australia?” she stutters, her eyes flitting from Robin to America with panic and concern.

“Don’t worry”, she points a thumb at a sleeping Aussie at the back, “he’s just tired.”

Villers let out a small sigh of relief; she hugs Robin goodbye (although it felt more forced than friendly), before getting in the car beside Australia. As she closes the door, America notices her cozy up to her brother’s sleeping form and leaning on him, taking a deep breath and releasing it.

Villers realises that someone was staring at her befuddled, and she snaps back up, red with embarrassment. “I-I miss Australia.”

“It’s okay”, America says, putting the car on reverse, “put your seatbelt on; Australia’s wearing one already.”

“O-okay.” She does what she says; after a few minutes of failing to buckle herself up — due to her trembling and shaking arms — she manages to connect the two belts together, giving her another reason to exhale in relief.

Driving during the night is supposed to be silent and serene; the roads were clogged by cars waiting to get home to their stress relievers, the Cities’ artificial lights replaces the sun’s flickering rays, the stars are once again competing with said artificial lights, and the night air was cool against her skin, a different sensation than the burning and uncomfortable warmth the sun radiates off.

But tonight, Villers and Australia are in the same vehicle as her, and America starts to feel awkward; like she didn’t belong with them and didn’t deserve touching Australia’s car without his permission. She was like the sun— between sea and the sky, but forced to watch them fall in love over and over again. She was never really fond of silences; she always thinks that it makes situations awkward rather than serene. Noise was like the sea; sometimes it was calm and uneventful, other times it raised the largest and deadliest waves mankind had ever seen, drowning out the smaller voices.

And she felt guilt churning at her gut, a bomb waiting to explode and begging Villers to forgive her. Alas, her pride and selfishness keeps the guilt in check— she can always cry her sorrows out from a bottle of gin.

“So Villers, I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days.” ...Of course her mouth would be the one to take initiative over the silence.

The woman in question jumps at her statement, and her guilt gnaws and devours. She recovers slightly, but is pulling at one of her hair strands, not meeting her gaze. “I was… um… busy.”

“It’s alright, you’re busy coping”, she replies gently; almost in a motherly way.

(The same tone Villers uses at her whenever she feels distressed.)

She fiddles with her fingers, subsequently leaning on Australia again. “Y-yes, coping…”

Her driver sighs, her eyes straight ahead. “It’s alright Villers, we don’t have to continue this.”

“B-but I really wanna talk”, she says softly, almost like an ethereal whisper being drowned out by America’s Indie music.

She sighs, before turning the music down. “Come again?”

“I-I really w-wanna talk.” She repeats, slightly louder this time.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“A-about… your day.”

America smiles; it’s a start. “Oh, my day was alright.” Then she takes a whiff of the jacket Koku gave her— still warm and fragrant, like cherry blossoms blooming in the spring. Her eyes are up in heaven.

“D-did you buy t-that jacket?” Villers was the first to notice her wearing Koku’s jacket, apart from New Zealand (or she placed the jacket on a coat rack so she could evade Canada and Australia’s questions).

“Nah”, she says, tugging one of its sleeves; it was two sizes too big, and she hates that reminder. “Ko—  _ someone _ gave it to me.” She didn’t want to trigger Villers’ emotions; she hates to see such a distressed look come across her soft features.

“They m-must be very n-nice.”

America sighs, warmth flooding her features. “More than nice.”

“Are they your f-friend?”

“Yeah, they’re very cool and they understand me.”

“T-that’s nice, b-but it s-seems a little b-big on you.”

America immediately blushes red— and despite her prayers to deities above for Villers not to notice, she does.

Her friend goes a shade of light pink. “O-oh… so you have a b-boyfriend?”

“J-just a friend”, she grits her teeth, keeping her eyes on the road.

“D-do you like him? Y-you’re turning red.”

She laughs whimsically, “It’s just very hot in here, that’s all.”

“I-it rained this afternoon, so it’s v-very c-cold today.”

She sighs, “No boyfriend at all.”

Villers recognises that tone; a tone she usually uses whenever she doesn’t wish to talk or think about the subject at all, so she nods. “O-okay then… but y-you can t-tell me anything that’s in y-your mind if you w-want to.”

“I can try.” She smiles at the rearview mirror, just to tell her that her pressing was no legitimate harm done.

They spend the entire car ride in silence— because both don’t have the heart to commit to another conversation (Villers seem to be snuggling closer to Australia after she realised her friend stays silent) and is ridden by the indestructible guilt that she had inflicted on herself (America’s knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel too hard). She takes a deep breath, not wanting to cry or show weakness to someone who has been through far worse.

* * *

A few days later, Canada was discharged from the hospital with a plaster on his nose; immediately after being escorted to the police station he was bound by chains and placed in the interrogation room, awaiting his questioner. As the others wait for New Zealand to get over himself having the ‘right questions’ or the ‘questions Canada won’t possibly find a loophole whilst answering’, America stares at her brother patiently waiting for the interrogation to begin; all the while looking at the clock as a time check.

It was seven in the morning; an hour or so before she has to make up an excuse to leave for the Nippon Household without sounding suspicious. It’s not like she wasn’t  _ eager _ to get answers from her asshole of a brother, but she thinks of the possibility of Koku hating her unbearable and an unthinkable probability to think about. Every tick of the clock, she can hear.

“Hey Meri, are you okay?” New Zealand asks, waving a hand across her face until she blinks.

She scoffs, “Of course I’m fine; why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’ve been staring at the clock from time to time, like you’re going to leave us for a meeting”, he deadpans.

“Maybe I am”, she replies questioningly, raising a brow. She wrings her hands together. “I’m just…  _ checking _ the time.”

“For what?” her brother asks tiredly, “You sound like you want to get away from us.”

She frowns at him, “Now where did you get that assumption from?”

“From the way you’re fidgeting a lot”, Australia jumps in, a can of soda in one arm and a hand on Villers (whose eyes were on the floor), his fingers rubbing soothing circles on her shoulder.

(When Australia came back here with Villers, no one was even surprised or shocked at the decision— maybe because he kept on glaring at the onlookers who were staring at the pair weirdly or had attempted to create a conversation with his fiancèe.)

“I was  _ not _ fidgeting.” Cue her bouncing her leg and glancing back at the clock.

“Why? Are you excited about something?” Kiwi raises a suspicious brow.

“Excited to find a reason to put my fist on Canada’s face”, she defends herself, feigning enthusiasm (though she  _ does _ want to punch him in the face, but the overwhelming desire to see Koku was more than that).

“Look Meri, we’re your brothers”, Kiwi states, and she groans; this pep-talk again. “You can tell us what’s going on, and we’ll understand.”

“Yeah, we’ll understand”, Australia steps in, sitting down next to them whilst Villers leans on his body. “Like whenever you go daydreaming during meetings, or you look like you got your head up in your clouds, or whenever you go home with these strange gifts from some asshole in that household…” He narrows his eyes at his sister. “We’ll get what’s up with your head when you tell us.”

She gulps; she’s never seen Australia look so suspicious and doubtful of her. She laughs a little to clear the mood. “Wow Aussie, are you  _ suspicious _ of me?”

“Meri, are you hiding something from us?” He ignores her statement, leaning forward until his body looms over her like a malevolent villain. Her green eyes weren’t shaken with fear though (she has had enough encounters with men like that); she takes a breath and tucks a hair strand behind her ear.

She snickers, “I’m  _ not _ hiding anything from you.”

“Why do you always feel so nervous or giddy or excited whenever we talk about Koku?” He says his name quietly at the expense of Villers.

She rolls her eyes.  _ Act normal _ . “Am I  _ not _ allowed to be giddy or excited or thrilled when we talk about some guy I’m spying on?”

“Not really, since you talk about guys that caught your eye all the time”, Kiwi says, fixing his hair, “but I feel like you’re hiding your — true — feelings about Teikoku’s brother.”

“And I don’t  _ have _ to disclose my real feelings about Koku”, she groans, “if I ever  _ had _ real unrequited feelings for him.” She takes a peek at the wall clock; three more minutes left. She needs to conjure up a reasonable explanation for her departure.

Aussie raises a brow. “Are you  _ sure _ ?” There was no teasing tone in his voice— it was solid ice, which was hard to thaw whenever he’s in this mode.

She grits her teeth. “Yes I’m absolutely sure!” Her green eyes meet with the image of the clock once again.  _ One more minute _ .

“Well if you aren’t hiding anything from us, would you mind telling me  _ why _ you chose to wear Koku’s jacket?” Kiwi asks bluntly.

His older brother stares at him, bewildered. “Koku, a member of  _ Teikoku’s _ family, gave you his jacket and you didn’t  _ bat an eye _ ?”

“He gave it for free!” she defends, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like I didn’t try to fight against him wanting to give me his jacket!”  _ Time’s up, get out now _ .

“Did you even  _ think _ of the various ways people could spy on you once they give you one of their personal belongings?!”

“Well yeah”, she lies, getting up, her eyes on the door. She slowly makes a beeline to the exit, trying to be discreet. “I totally checked them for trackers or bombs, don’t worry.” She scales the walls, eager to get out of the station.

Kiwi catches wind of her trying to escape once she tugs away Koku’s jacket from the coat rack; he stands, running to her. “Hey, where are you going? I’m about to interrogate Canada!”

“I know, I know”, America replies, speed walking faster, her eyes still on her brothers now ganging up on her. “And I have  _ no _ input on how the interrogation will end so the best of luck!”

“Why are you trying to escape?” Aussie asks, frustrated.

“Uhhhh secret?” She smiles before — finally — reaching the door. She exhales, her heart racing and her mind laughing at her for attempting to get away.

“What do you  _ mean _ secret—” She closes the door in front of her younger brothers’ face; she snickers as she imagines how taken aback he might’ve been that his own sister slammed the door on his face. Her mind immediately fills with guilt and regret for treating her brothers like that, but she also wants to spend time with Koku. Trying to shake the never-ending guilt off her back, she whistles a tune, slinging Koku’s jacket on her back and walking to her destination.

Meanwhile, from behind the closed doors, Kiwi and Aussie glare from a distance, puzzled and confused about how exuberant and conspicuous their sister was being. Thoughts —  _ unhelpful _ thoughts, to be added — began overflowing their minds: is America  _ leaving _ them? Is she going to backstab them in the near future? Is she  _ abandoning _ them like what dad did?

While they were distracted staring at the vanishing image of their sister, a pair of arms swung around them, causing Aussie’s to scream out of surprise (which causes Villers, who was seated in the lobby, to jump a bit, before calming down realising it was only her fiance). The pair stare back at the newcomer, only to be greeted by a smug and smiling Canada. They groan — especially Kiwi — before realising that Canada was free from the interrogation room.

“Did you just—”

“No, I asked Vietnam to cut me loose so I could  _ comfort my baby brothers _ ”, he says the last four words in cutesy voices whilst squishing their cheeks.

“Knock it  _ off _ ”, Aussie slaps his hand away with a sigh, “I’m not really in the mood.”

Canada’s face full of mischief slowly turns to a serious one. He sighs, reaching over to scratch his hair, only to realise that he didn’t have much of his original hair anymore, to his embarrassment. “I want to tell you guys something.”

Both of his brothers look at him in unison.

“About what?” Kiwi asks, raising a brow.

Canada inclines his head upwards, his dark green eyes staring at the door where America had just walked out of. “About why America has been acting suspicious; she’s been acting like this ever since she got the job but… judging from your conversation earlier, I think her behaviour got  _ way _ out of hand.”

His brothers lean forward, all ears. “We’re listening.”

“Just follow America to her destination”, their older brother replies simply, his eyes still trained on where she had just left. “I’ll tell Vietnam and Philip that they’ll be the one leading the interrogation. Just go solve the mystery on what’s going on with our sister.”

Aussie nods, “Right.” He turns to Kiwi with an excited smile. “We’re spies spying on a spy spying on a mafia boss’ brother!”

Kiwi sighs, but was glad to have Australia’s enthusiasm back. “Yes, we are.” He huffs as Australia grabs his arm out of nowhere and pulls him outside the doors.

A second later, Australia peeks his head in the door. “Oh and drop Villers off at Robin’s place again! I love you Villers!”

* * *

The walk towards Koku’s house was rather suspiciously fast— perhaps it was her having a conversation with her subconscious. Her subconscious was a body with a single eye (to see what she does and calculates the various consequences and reactions from her actions) but with a hundred mouths, all to yell at her and make her deflate with the never-ending guilt she feels; a monster.

Her eyes throughout the whole walk were on the ground (miraculously, she hadn’t died from getting hit by a car or mugged by an asshole hiding in the alleys), as her thoughts were racing, like they were competing in a running track and her thoughts win; it always does, it cannot be outrun because it always runs for eternity.

(Well, until she croaks.)

Her morals were a mess; a jungle impossible to track and find what she was supposed to do, how she was supposed to act, and why she did those actions herself. She loves her brothers, and she wasn’t leaving them just to cozy up with Koku, she just thinks that if she doesn’t show up at the house today he might get the wrong idea.

_ You’re taking care of grown men _ , her mind tells her, and she frowns at just how true the statement is,  _ you’re more than that _ .

She groans, not looking at the way she was going before bumping into another person with a soft ‘oof’. America sighs and looks up to tell the person she had accidentally made contact with to go screw themselves; all the words die in her throat as Koku looks down on her with surprised eagerness.

America smiles up at Koku, her cheeks tinged with red. “Hey.” She bounces on one foot, feeling someone watching her from a distance.

He tilts his head, smiling back. “Hey yourself.”

They stare into each other’s eyes, mesmerised by their beauty. America tugs at the jackets sleeves she had curled around on herself, and she remembers what she was supposed to do with it.

“Oh, here’s your jacket back”, she says with a smile, “I washed it for you; well, i don’t think dousing it with numerous gallons of perfume counts as ‘washing’, but I cleaned it up for you.”

Koku laughs, taking the jacket from her and wearing it, taking a whiff of it. “Well, even if you didn’t wash it, it still smells nice.”

“You’re welcome.” Hair strands gently fall from her face right in front of the sun, making her even more ethereal. Her eyes were bright with passion and desire. “So… what are we going to do for today?”

His grey eyes glint in the sunlight. “We’re free for the morning— though we have to go to Minguk’s place in the afternoon.”

She twirls a single hair strand, her smile widening. “Ah, so where do you want to go first?”

He smiles, “I heard that there was a brand new bubble tea shop opening at the town square.”

America smirks, her eyes darkening with desire. “It’s a date.”

During Koku and America’s reunion, a pair of brothers were watching their sister interact with a guy they hardly know out of earshot but within their sight, their eyes narrowed. One was peering from behind a tree, and the other was watching them from the branches.

“America is acting  _ suspicious _ ”, Aussie says, playing with their newly bought binoculars (which are fake, they got it from a toy store because Australia kept pestering New Zealand to buy it for him). He takes away the binoculars from his eyes, peering at the silhouettes. “And was that Koku or Teikoku?”

“Do you ever think America would let Teikoku near her?” Kiwi deadpans, his arms crossed, leaning behind a tree.

He shrugs. “I guess not.”

“And get down from there, I don’t think the tree’s branches would support your weight anyway.”

“No way! They’re still talking!” He looks at them from the binoculars, but Kiwi could see them clearly; America giving Koku a knowing smirk, as Koku kept on talking about something.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Kiwi inclines his head up at Australia.

“Probably about Teikoku, like ‘Hey Teikoku is a big cunt’ and ‘He isn’t a big cunt how dare you!’” Kiwi stares at his brother as he chortles.

“...Seriously?”

Australia glances back at him, “Dude, they’re acting like they’re a couple in love…  _ suspicious _ .”

The dark-haired brother crosses his arms, groaning. “America and I talked about how she’s acting like she’s in love with Koku; she was in denial that entire convo.”

“ _ Very _ suspicious.”

“Is ‘suspicious’ the only word you know?”

“America is acting dubious.”

“...I guess that’s much better?” His dark eyes catch the pair that they were assigned to watch walk away from the Nippon House. He looks up at his older brother, unaware of the branch he was sitting on cracking. “Hey let’s hurry up; we might lose their trail.” He wants to point the breaking branch out but he stays silent.

Australia sighs, “All right.” Before he could move another inch, the tree branch broke and, with a yelp, he fell on top of Kiwi, who groaned from surprise and pain. His back hurt like hell, like someone made him carry a boulder and climb at the top of a hill.

“Get  _ off of me _ ”, he pushes his brother away from him, rubbing his back, before he realises Australia’s scream and the branch breaking off causes the pair they were watching to stare at them. “ _ Shit _ .” He pushes Australia down.

“What was that?” Koku asks, turning his head at the innocent-looking tree.

“I don’t know”, America’s eyes narrow, her hands on Koku’s chest;  _ but it sounded like my brother screaming _ . “Maybe it was just the leaf blower or something.”

“Why would a leaf blower climb a  _ tree _ ?”

She bites her lip, “To… get the leaves stuck at the branches?”

He stares at her; he must have been thinking about how stupid that reasoning was, but he shrugs. “Oh well. Let’s get to the shop before it’s bombarded by new customers.”

She smiles, “All right.”

They walk away from Kiwi and Australia’s hiding place, her brothers heaving a sigh of relief.

“That was close.” Kiwi breathes, before glaring at Aussie. “You’re not allowed to climb trees  _ ever _ again.”

“Come on”, he rolls his eyes, “maybe I wasn’t as light as I used to.”

“The last time you climbed trees was back when we were  _ kids _ .”

He stuck out his tongue childishly, and Kiwi groans, but was fond of his antics.

* * *

“Where did you think Meri and Koku went?” Australia asks, looking around the town square, his dark blue eyes glancing at every kind of thing that catches his vision.

“I dunno, maybe if  _ someone _ didn’t stop by a gift shop to purchase a locket, then maybe we would’ve kept up with them.” Kiwi glares at his brother pointedly.

“Come on! Villers would  _ like _ the locket!” He holds the golden heart shaped jewelry, proud of himself.

“Well if you keep dangling it like that you have nothing to give Villers later.” Kiwi pushes his way out of the passerby, the nameless faces glaring at him as they try looking for America and Koku. He swears at himself; he knows the couple places he’s aware America would go to unhindered, but since she’s with someone else this time, he thinks they went somewhere Koku suggested himself. He groans, “We’ll never find them at this rate!”

“I saw America and that asshole making googly eyes at each other at that brand new bubble tea shop”, Australia points out.

“Where?” Kiwi pushes him away, his dark eyes trying to navigate wherever the pair might be.

“Rude.” His brother says, but he ignores him, eyes lighting up as he finally finds the people they were meant to be looking for.

His smile lightens up, grabbing Australia’s arms. “C’mon, let’s try to act casual.”

He gasps, going starry-eyed. “Do we need disguises?”

America props her elbow, cocking her head to the side. “Thanks for treating me here.”

Koku laughs, taking a sip of his bubble tea. “Because I love you.”

“I do as well.” She smiles. “Their bubble tea here is… so delicious.”

“Of course, I know when to please”, he smirks, “after you’re done, we’re going to the bakery.”

Her eyes light up out of excitement, her lips tingling. “What are we gonna do there?”

He waves a hand. “Nothing much, just a few orders Teikoku wants me to forward to the bakers; you know, for the party.”

A sense of urgency rings in America’s senses, and she stands straight— the party might be the last time she confronts Teikoku and his plans. “Oh, of course, the party.”

“And don’t tell Teikoku, but you’re my Plus One.” He smiles, attempting to be savvy.

She just laughs and rolls her eyes, and her hands fall on top of Koku’s. However, in her mind, her subconscious echoes all of her negative thoughts and possible negative outcomes that might come out of this party. “You shouldn’t have.” The girl smiles sweetly at the boy;  _ you really shouldn’t have _ .

He clears his throat, “You deserve it.”

“But how will Teikoku react to me being invited?”

Koku’s face becomes uncertain; he scratches his head. “I-I don’t know, but he has to  _ suck it up _ .” He cringes from saying the phrase, either out of — reasonable — fear of Teikoku, or just the sheer ridiculousness of that statement.

Her look transforms into pity. “You’re unprepared.”

He frowns. “I guess I am.”

She buttons up his collar, “But that’s okay, it’s your first time defying your brother.”

“You’re making me feel guilty about me just disrespecting my brother’s wishes.” He flicks his head. “Teikoku doesn’t even want  _ you _ to attend the party.”

She sighs, not really that surprised. “Of course he would. You still like him?”

“He’s my brother; I’ll always love him.”

America shakes her head dejectedly; he still has a lot to learn. Yet she sucks that up, remembering she had just abandoned her brother’s interrogation to hang out with him. “I understand; it’d be hard to let one of the people you love go.”

He looks up at her, surprised; he smiles warmly at her, a rain cloud and the sun at a momentary peace. “Thank you, that really made me feel better.”

She laughs, slouching and stretching her arms out. “I make people feel better.”

“Kiwi, does this jacket make me look like a suspicious stranger?” Australia asks his brother as he stuffs his hands inside the pockets. “I look like someone who’d stuff kids in a van.” His face clouds with anger. “Those miscreants deserve to  _ burn _ .”

“Yes they do”, Kiwi sighs, “but are you going to actually  _ order _ something?”

“What?”

“You’ve been standing at the front of the line for two minutes; the other customers who had thought up of something to order are swearing at you with their eyes now.”

“Oh.” He turns to stare at the various customers just glaring at him with eyes that were enough to cut him open. “Uh, sorry ‘bout clogging up the line, here ya go mates.” He steps out of the line, countless customers eliciting exaggerated thank you’s and swears at him. Kiwi facepalms at his brother for causing him second-hand embarrassment. “So, where are those two lovebirds at?”

“There”, Kiwi points at America and Koku — sickeningly making lovesick eyes at each other — with his lips at a nearby table. “Ugh, what is this, a date? Did Meri lie to me and actually  _ like _ Koku?”

“It’s too early to say that, dear brother”, Australia says, patting Kiwi’s shoulder. “They’re friends!” He glares at them. “Too  _ close _ to be called friends.”

“I guess it’s too early to tell the truth, then.” They continue to watch them, only getting little bits and pieces of their conversation, such as a ‘Plus One’, ‘Teikoku’s party’, and someone loving another.

Australia blinks.  _ Pause _ .

He pokes his brother. “Did they just say something about ‘ _ love _ ’? That’s a marriage thing!”

“Dude, love exists outside of marriage. Would you be marrying  _ me _ since as brothers we love each other?”

Australia sniffs. “Awwww, you know I love you!”

He groans. “ _ Please _ .”

“Does that mean they’re  _ in love _ ?”

“I think they were talking about Koku’s brother— you know,  _ Teikoku _ .”

“My hatred for Teikoku will always have a place in my heart…  _ brain _ .”

Koku leans in towards America. “Hey Meri, I think they’re watching us.” He stares at the two strangers who were clad from head-to-toe with jackets and souvenirs.

She narrows her eyes at them, cynical. “Must be spies.”

“Oh no!” Australia whisper-shouts at Kiwi, “They spotted us! What do we do?!”

“Stay  _ calm _ ”, Kiwi attempts to defuse his brother’s jumpy personality, but Australia is now silently panicking and internally screaming, bringing more attention to them.

Koku narrows his eyes, puzzled. “Is the taller man okay? He seems to be agitated about something.”

She continues to glare at them, “He’s probably agitated because we caught him.”

Aussie bends down until he is his brother’s height. “Kiwi… let’s get outta here… I never liked crowds anyway.”

“You liked getting  _ attention _ from crowds though.”

“That’s different! No one’s pressuring me with their  _ eyes _ . Their eyes are keys to their  _ soul _ . And Meri’s looking at us like strangers and  _ I don’t like it _ .”

“People look at us like strangers all the time!”

“But we don’t know them! I can’t  _ bear _ Meri looking at me like that!”

His brother sighs, toying with his hair. “Alright, let’s get out of here.”

“Oh look, they’re exiting the shop.” Koku points out.

“I hope so.” America finishes her drink. “So… bakery?”

He smiles, “Let’s go.”

* * *

“So do you think they’re dating?” Australia asks, as he and Kiwi follow the pair to the bakery; of course they make sure that they are a few meters apart from them so that they won’t be able to spot their spies. “The way they were making eyes and leaning towards each other suggests so.”

“I don’t know yet, but I guess they are”, Kiwi states.

Australia glances at their hands— their fingers were brushing together, tempting and tantalisingly close to connecting. He recognises this as the technique he and Villers had done back in their earlier days when they kept their dating a secret, so that his father wouldn’t find another reason to kick him out (but he did). He remembered how much he wanted to hold her hand, encircle their fingers together and hold her close.

They’re doing the same thing now.

(For some unknown reason, he feels insulted.)

“I feel insulted Meri would  _ dare  _ to use my technique”, he says aggressively to Kiwi.

“Aus… people have been using that technique for ages. Probably because of the ‘no hand-holding before marriage’ rule.”

“Yes, hand-holding is sinful!”

Kiwi tugs at Australia’s sleeve. “And  _ you _ need to keep it down, or they’ll turn their attention to you.”

“I like attention!”

“It depends.”

“I feel like I’m being watched by someone”, Koku says uncomfortably.

“Probably those spies again”, America grunts, staring at people quizzically. “But don’t worry  _ my love _ , I’ll protect you from them!”

“Ugh, don’t do that.”

“But I  _ wuv _ you!”

“Please.”

She snickers. “All right, all right, so bakeries, am I right?”

He ignores her statement, contemplating on what he’ll buy for  _ her _ instead. “I’ll buy you a box of cupcakes. Probably some more chocolates. Oh, and those cute brownies.”

She elbows him, “Woah, I don’t need all  _ that _ many pastries; I don’t think I could eat all of them.”

He gives her the side eye. “You ate a dozen mochis by yourself.”

She turns red from embarrassment, once again twirling a strand of her hair. “I was  _ hungry _ .”

“You ate  _ steak _ for lunch with me.”

America crosses her arms, giving him a glare that he couldn’t help smiling at. “I have a big appetite.”

“Yes you do.”

She giggles — which were music to Koku’s ears — and clings on his arm. “It’s not my fault  _ you _ don’t eat anything.”

“I have a healthy diet.”

Australia’s eyes widen as America leans on Koku’s body and clings on his arm. “Public display of affection?”

Kiwi pulls a disgusted look. “ _ Gross _ . Now you feel the pain I feel whenever you and Villers kiss or flirt.”

He narrows his eyes, a grossed out look on his face. “Acts of love look  _ horrible _ whenever I look at everything in a third person perspective!”

“A.k.a, when other people do it other than you.”

“Yeah exactly.”

“We should keep following them; they’re going to a bakery.”

“So Koku can make  _ cupcakes of evil _ .”

The bakery’s bell makes a  _ ding _ sound once America and Koku enter it; the smell of baked bread and batter fill her senses, and she inhales, sighing at how pleased she was at the scent. She missed baking bread with her family; although they got the recipes wrong or misunderstood the instructions, they had a lot of fun doing it. An oven and a half-cooked loaf of bread wasn’t enough to create a gap between them.

The warm and soft light the bakery exudes were aesthetically pleasing, and the warm air around her was like an embrace that felt sincere and real, no malicious touches or cold breath on her neck.

“I like the bakery too”, Koku tells her, his eyes on the dozens of pastries underneath that soft light. “It’s my favourite place to go to.”

“I’ve always wanted to try their strawberry custard bread”, America says, her eyes fixated on the loaves of bread on her line of vision, just lying underneath that artificial sun, basking in its warmth. “It was a new addition to the bakery.”

He smiles, “Then we can buy it.”

She turns to look at him. “Aren’t we here for the list of pastries Teikoku wants done for the party?”

“Yeah, but”, Koku pulls out his wallet to reveal a credit card—  _ Teikoku’s _ credit card to be exact. “I have the money.”

The little smirk he pulls off makes America melt. “ _ God _ , that was stupid.”

He ruffled her hair, making her gasp. “Remind me never to do that again.”

She laughs. “Yeah, that  _ was _ stupid.” She kisses his cheek, “But that made me laugh.”

Kiwi widens his eyes at the sight of them. “Did they just  _ kiss? _ ”

“I don’t know!” Aussie presses his face at the glass pane separating them. “But America is acting too strange! She’s getting too close to Koku and I don’t like that!” He glares at Koku’s back, his  _ protective younger brother _ senses tingling (even though America could handle herself).

“I have a strange feeling about their relationship… but I think it’s too early to tell.”

Koku taps America’s shoulder, staring at the two faces pressing on the bakery’s window. “It’s those guys from the bubble tea shop again.”

She groans, crossing her arms, her head pivoting to the windows; to her irritation, those spies were there to ruin her day again. “I’ll get them to leave, just purchase and order what you have to.”

He nods, “Alright.” Her glare turns to the spies pressed against the window 一 they cower in the process 一 as he walks to the register.

“Oh  _ no _ ”, Australia says as he watches America approach the two. He faces his brother. “She’s coming after us!”

Kiwi’s eyes are fixated to hold America’s fiery glare. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Hey.” A female voice made them jump 一 or shriek, in Australia’s case 一 and they turned around to find their sister, arms crossed, glaring at them with a raised brow. “Why the hell have you and your friend been following us, huh?”

Australia’s dark blue eyes meet Kiwi’s dark ones, signalling for  _ help _ .

“Uh”, Kiwi can feel his palms drench with sweat, his lips trembling, “we’re  _ window _ … wipers.”

America was skeptical. “Why have you been watching us rather than doing  _ your _ job? And why were you in the bubble tea shop? And now I’m  _ pretty _ sure I saw you two at the tree near Koku’s home.”

“We work  _ a lot of _ jobs!” Australia backs Kiwi’s claim up; he was thankful that he had his brother with him this time. “Like blowing leaves off of trees… and carrying sacks of cement! And you know… window cleaning!”

“Why were you in the tea shop then?”

“ _ Because _ ”, Australia pats Kiwi in the back一 hard, making him cough a little. “My brother here一 he’s an introvert.”

Kiwi stares at him with a  _ what do you think you’re going to say _ look.

Australia flaps his arms. “And uh, he really likes to cosplay as… a stranger in the crowds ‘cause… he’s very,  _ very _ afraid of people talking to him.”

His brother goes red.

America turns to Kiwi, still unconvinced.

Kiwi had no choice but to improvise Aussie’s explanation himself. “Y-yeah, I get uh…  _ whoozy _ at social interaction, haha.” He glares at his older brother, who smiles smugly at him.

She looks at the pair of spies; they look  _ so _ familiar, despite only their face showing. The taller one had a smug and mischievous smile, his dark blue eyes shining with fun, while the others’ dark eyes hold nothing but pure irritation for his brother.

They remind her of Australia and New Zealand, and it makes the corners of her lips turn upwards. “Alright… uh, take good care of your younger brother, alright?”

The taller man nods, smiling down at his younger brother. “Of course, I’ll take care of my  _ baby bwothew _ .”

He groans一 the same way Kiwi groans whenever Australia does something stupid.

As she walked back to the inside of the bakery, Koku was holding four or so plastic bags of pastries. Needless to say, her eyes widen at the sight of them.

“How  _ many _ did you buy?”

He lifts one of his arms that has a pair of plastic bags. “Let’s see: a loaf of strawberry custard bread, chocolate brownies, a dozen mochis 一 for you and I 一 and rice cakes for Minguk and his family.”

She raises a brow, smirking. “You  _ really _ want to be friends, huh? How is that working out now?”

“Well, aside from causal arguments, we’re having fun talking.” He frowns. “But he keeps insulting my brother in front of my face, which I don’t like. And also he talks about whatever crimes my brother committed. Frankly, I don’t believe any of them; they’re just so… hard to comprehend.”

She sighs. “It’s… okay, to be in denial.”  _ But you can’t shield yourself from the truth forever _ . “Let’s go now.”

* * *

“Why are we waiting for them?” Australia whispers before slurping on the slushie he bought. “Can’t we just… I dunno, watch Koku tutor Minguk and Meri converse with his uncle and that new chick?”

Kiwi gives him a pointed look. “That’s called ‘ _ trespassing _ ’ on someone’s property, and we’re  _ not _ doing that.”

“But一”

He glares at Aussie. “ _ No _ .”

“Fine”, he  _ hmphs _ , slurping on the slushie harder. “We’re just gonna wait here until they stop dating in Minguk’s home.”

“That is a  _ horrible _ way of putting it.”

“Come on, you don’t think it’s true? I mean, I do that in your apartment with Villers back then.”

“I lent you my apartment after you got disowned; then  _ you _ kicked me out when you’re off to do  _ whatever _ the hell you and Villers want.”

“Oh please, at least I have common decency; you however, are a sheep-fucker.”

“Ugh, can you get over that joke from high school already?”

“Nope, I’ll never forget the day you mixed up your cue cards and told the entire debate class you ‘liked fucking sheep’.”

“Get  _ over _ that!”

“ _ Never _ .”

Kiwi puts his head in his hands, groaning. “I hate you.”

“Aw, I love you too.” He boops his brother’s nose, which he smacks away, irritation painted all across his features.

* * *

The pair peek out from behind the trees, their eyes following America and Koku, who were both laughing and smiling underneath the sun’s rays. They were happy, they almost believed that they were actually  _ in love _ with each other.

“Minguk is  _ so annoying _ ”, Koku sighs, scratching his head with irritation.

“You’re annoying to him too you know”, America says, chuckling, “all prissy and mysophobic.”

“Germs are  _ not _ a joke”, he says as he brushes off imaginary dust from his clothes, making America laugh and prove a point. “And I’m  _ not _ prissy.”

“You may not be, but your brother is”, she points out, and under her breath mutters, “ _ unfortunately _ .”

“The sun’s going to set in an hour”, he points out, his eyes at the dimming sky. He gives her a smile. “Let’s go back to that hill so we could watch it.”

Her face reddens, her smile widening. Her fingers connect with his, blood rushing through her veins. “Let’s go.”

“They’re running now”, Kiwi tells Australia, “let’s keep up so we could see if all our assumptions are true.”

“What are our assumptions about them again?” Australia asks as they transition to a speedwalk.

“You know… America  _ dating _ Koku?”

“Oh. Yeah. ‘Cause she’s starting to go soft on that bastard.”

He nods, “Yeah.”

* * *

The hill’s view will never ever not be enthralling— in front of them was the orange sun, wanting to sleep, the sky going pink and orange, a solar flare in the skies. Below them was a part of the City, Pangea, basking in the last light of the sun before it sets. The city was still bustling with life, even when the sun was battling — and losing to — the evening star. The tallest building, Deutsche Towers, was glinting with the sun’s dying colours, reflecting it to the entire city.

She takes a deep breath, the smell of grass and flowers lingering as she sits on the ledge of the hill; beside her was Koku, looking at the setting sun, marvelled by its beauty.

Meanwhile, her two brothers were spying on them in a nearby tree— and it seems Australia did not learn his lesson, still sitting at the branch of the trees, whilst Kiwi is behind the tree bark.

(His older brother didn’t listen to him; he states he’ll have a better view up in the trees.)

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Kiwi whisper-asks Aussie.

“Well… kinda.” He replies, craning his head, oblivious to the branch about to give in.

Someone touches her hand, and she is back to a world where she included Koku into her own social circle. She turns to him, the wind affecting their hair, and her hands close around his.

“Uh… what are they doing?” Kiwi asks, eyes widening.

“Hand holding.” Australia has his binoculars on him again.

“Oh,  _ shit _ .”

“You know, everyone has a sunset to look at”, Koku says, his eyes shining, hands slipping from hers and landing on her shoulders. He leans in closer, “And my own sunset is  _ you _ .”

He closes the gap between them, and America is once again in heaven.

(Him kissing her first was rare— but not unwelcome.)

“Oh my  _ god _ ”, Kiwi gasps, his eyes wide, as Koku closes the gap between him and his sister. “Oh my fucking  _ god _ .”

He was right; of  _ course _ he is, his intuition and guesses were never wrong. But this felt strange, peculiar— instead panic pools in his gut, watching a stranger just kiss his sister like that. He felt… lied to, like all those reassurances and excuses Meri gave him so he could stop acting suspicious were all thrown to the dumpster. He doesn’t know how Australia is feeling, but he’s  _ pretty sure _ that his brother felt insulted to see his sister biting Teikoku’s brother’s face off.

Australia above him pulls off a disgusted face. “ _Ewwwww_ _gross_!” There was a hint of hurt in his voice, but he’s doing a good job hiding it.

“That’s how  _ I _ feel whenever you and Villers do it.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving”, Australia moving and fidgeting against the branch makes it break and crack more; and before the pair of brothers could blink, and with a yelp, he falls on Kiwi— again.

“You’re  _ so _ stupid!” Kiwi shouts at him, forgetting that they were not alone. “Get the  _ fuck _ off of me!”

“Australia? New Zealand?” Oh, oh shit.

The brothers who were called snap their heads up at the same time to face their older sister’s outraged face and Koku’s confused look.

Koku turns to her, “Are these your brothers?”

She groans, “Not now, Koku.” She pulls her brothers up, a glare settling in her face— her eyes however, have panic and shock written all over them. She turns to her boyfriend (is that the right word?). “Can you… wait for me over by the trees? My brothers and I have something to talk about.”

Wordlessly, Koku distances themselves from them to the shade of the trees, and her eyes are now on them again.

Australia — unsurprisingly — was the one who tries to defuse this disaster. “Uh… congratulations for getting a boyfriend?”

“What are you two doing here?” she demands.

“Canada told us to keep watch on you”, Kiwi answers, “he’s worried about you, we all are.”

She groans, “Tell Canada he could suck a dick—”

“He does that”, Australia interrupts her.

America ignores him, sighing. “When I get back to the station, we’ll talk about this; I have to escort Koku to his home.”

Aussie scoffs, “He’s a grown man, he can walk himself home.”

“I’m his  _ bodyguard _ , whether I like it or not.”

Australia’s face darkens, “Well, you seem to be enjoying it more than you expected.”

“Fuck off.” Her glare grows cold, before pushing her brothers away. “Go back to the station, and we’ll settle this.”

Her redhead brother glares at her, “Yeah,  _ we will _ .” They both vanish under the canopy of trees.

She sighs, before smiling at Koku. “Family emergency came up; we’ll have to cut our time short.”

He smiles, but his eyes show disappointment. “I understand, but will you accompany me home?”

“Of course.”

* * *

When she came back to the station, the atmosphere was… different. Her colleagues stare at her with something  _ else _ in their eyes; not the usual casual glances she and her colleagues use at each other, there was… something different in those looks they gave her. Like she was now a stranger to them, a blank obsidian slate that they could input all their words and life into this so-called empty slate. Those stares hinder her, but she’s going to have to confront her brothers first.

“Hey Meri.”

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself down, before confronting Canada, still handcuffed. “Did anyone forget  _ you’re _ a criminal? Why are you roaming freely?”

“I just wanted to talk to you, along with Australia and New Zealand.”

“Then  _ talk _ , goddamn it.”

He motions at one of the private rooms, “We can talk in private, as you like it.”

She walks ahead of him and opens the door, Australia and New Zealand waiting for her; they look up at her with enmity and the look of betrayal in their eyes.

She  _ does _ have a lot of explaining to do.

“What was going on in your head?!” Canada questions America, once they’re fully seated. “What were you  _ thinking _ ?!”

“I like him, he likes me”, she replies dismissively. “That’s a  _ perfect _ reason to go out on a date with someone.”

“You just don’t go out dating with someone you’re supposed to  _ spy _ on!”

She groans, “What’s wrong with  _ liking _ someone? You never commented on whoever I’m spending time with ‘til now!”

“Because they  _ don’t matter to us _ ”, Canada replies, “because even with their dubious and messed up parents, they can  _ still be trusted _ .”

“Then why aren’t you doing the exact same to Koku? He’s  _ not _ Teikoku!”

“‘Cause  _ his _ family did a lot of shit to us”, Australia speaks up.

“But a  _ lot _ of other families did shit to us! It doesn’t make any sense!”

“We don’t trust Koku because we have  _ yet _ to see of him”, New Zealand interjects, “he could be just like his brother; a master player of manipulating, acting and cajoling just to get other people to agree with him.”

“He  _ isn’t _ like that!” She wants to put her fist right on her brothers’ faces, but she refrains from doing so, quite overwhelmed with emotion. “He’s  _ unaware _ and in  _ denial _ of whatever the hell Teikoku’s scheming about!”

“You let Koku in your head”, Canada says, with a  _ disappointed _ look on his face. “You fell for his twisted words until you  _ think _ you fell in love with him.”

“Oh  _ wow _ ”, America sarcastically responds, “you’re going to  _ manipulate _ and twist my words now; such a  _ fitting _ way to tell me how I’m wrong and you’re  _ all _ correct.”

“But you  _ are _ ”, New Zealand replies, touching Canada’s shoulder as a sign to calm down and let him take over. “Wrong, that is.”

“Then enlighten me on how  _ I _ am wrong, without gaslighting me.”

“We  _ don’t _ fall in love with cases.”

Her words from the time  _ she manipulated _ Koku suddenly came back to her like a wave, and then the remaining guilt came back. Her legs start to shake, she grits her teeth, and she digs her nails into her palms. She takes a deep breath, remembering how agitated she had felt and exhausted she was when she had been talking to Weimar— his emerald green eyes glint with malicious intent, wanting to tear her apart.

“ _ I know _ .” She says through gritted teeth, pushing her chair away from the table, fists clenched. “That’s what  _ I told Weimar _ .”

Kiwi stands from his seat. “I knew it!” He points an accusing finger at her. “You  _ did _ omit something from your talk with Weimar!”

“It  _ wasn’t _ important.”

“But he  _ knows _ you two are together!”

“Meri”, Australia speaks up, his eyes shining with sadness. “Why did you lie to us?”

“I didn’t  _ mean _ to hide this from you—”

“ _ Bullshit _ ”, Canada seethes, “you have  _ no _ idea what Teikoku’s gang did in the Underground?”

His siblings turned to look at him; he was absolutely livid, a wildfire present in his eyes.

“What did Teikoku do?” Kiwi asks slowly.

“It’s… hard to explain”, Canada replies, giving an exhausted sigh. “You can have the entire footage of my interrogation from Philip but the gist of it is… Teikoku distracted me and my mom and alienated us from the mob— then Weimar fucking killed almost  _ all _ our members, and set fire to our manor.”

“How… how come we never heard  _ any _ of this?” America asks, horrified.

“The news in the Hidden Corners is never covered to the public.”

“I… oh.”

“Hidden Corners?” Australia and Kiwi repeat at the same time.

Canada smirks at America and turns back to his younger brothers. “A  _ project _ created by the UN, and its goal is to redeem criminals with minor offenses.”

“How come—”

“The UN never told us because he wanted to keep that… crime-infested utopia a secret.” America interjects, “It’s the reason why I managed to find you two in the first place.”

“That asshole is wreaking havoc in the Hidden Corners, criminals’ only way to try and live like they have nothing on their back.” Canada speaks up, his anger multiplying. “Thanks to him, he and Weimar managed to oust my mother, the Netherlands, a section of Soviet’s territories, and others; those assholes even raided our warehouses and kidnapped  _ our _ own livelihood.”

“ _ Fuck _ .” Kiwi swears, “we’re  _ definitely _ not updated with this case.”

“I don’t remember who our assailants were”, Canada says, before taking something out of his pockets and bringing it on the table. America’s eyes widen at the sight. He gives her a pointed look. “Who would even  _ bring _ Minguk’s recommended worksheets to go drag someone to death?”

She stares at the papers, crumpled and muddied up, stepped on; like her heart is now.

_ A crumpled ball of paper escapes Teikoku’s pocket whilst he drags Canada’s unconscious body to oblivion. He underestimated that whore’s brother’s weight; it was almost like he was made out of cinderblocks, even with his puppets helping him carry him. Thailand was the first to notice the paper sliding out of his pocket. _

_ “Hey boss, are you going to pick that up?” He motions to the crumpled sheet of paper being dirtied on the ground. _

_ He smiles, “No, I already know where Minguk lives, and I plan on…  _ surprising _ him and his family.” _

_ “Why do you even have that on you?” _

_ “My brother can’t shut his mouth, and unfortunately for Minguk, Koku complaining about him let me finally find him.” _

“No!” She shouts, her voice breaking. “He would  _ never _ !”

“Then how would you explain  _ this _ ?” Canada motions to the crumpled piece of paper, dejected. “Give me a reason you still trust Koku after this.”

“He won’t be able to do this!” America says. “He has no  _ fucking clue _ of what Teikoku does!”

“How would you know?” Canada asks, challenging her. “Do you think you can defend him  _ now _ ?”

She can feel her blood boiling. “I still  _ can _ ! There is no  _ fucking way _ Koku would be aware of Teikoku’s crimes and plans! He’s not even aware of his surroundings, how I try to act gentle and normal around him, how he’s in fucking  _ denial _ of Teikoku’s crimes!”

“The last line checks out”, Kiwi states.

“He doesn’t get all nervous or fidgety whenever I make vague —  _ vague _ ! — references about Teikoku’s recorded crimes; he gets angry! Not angry like ‘how did you know all this’ or that kind of shit, the type of anger where people try and defend their family members from being defamed by someone or the public! He’s being  _ manipulated _ , and his relationship with his older brother is  _ not _ healthy.”

“Even  _ if _ he is being manipulated by his brother, that doesn’t explain what this crumpled sheet of paper was doing in the crime scene.”

“He must have given it to Teikoku! And he stuffed it in his pocket!”

“Are you seriously  _ still _ defending that disgusting family?!” Australia bellows, making everyone jump at the volume his voice had been in. “Teikoku  _ traumatised _ Villers, treated her like an animal, mocked her and I, vilified Villers! I  _ hate _ him, and everything he stands for!” His eyes shine with sadness and curiosity. “What do you even see in him?”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” She ignores her voice breaking, too ridden with grief to even care. “Koku is  _ not _ like Teikoku— he  _ never was _ , and he, along with every other family member in that god forsaken home, is a  _ victim _ to the head of the house’s manipulation.”

“We’re taking you off the case”, Australia blurts out.

Her blood runs cold. “What do you mean?”

“We’re… taking you off the case. Maybe replace you with Australia or New Zealand while we’re at it.” Canada says sternly. “You’re not doing your  _ job _ properly.”

“I still collect  _ intel _ for you!” She exclaims, her voice high and shrill; when will they understand? “At least I could do my job properly! Besides, Teikoku’s having a party tomorrow, and I’m  _ not _ gonna miss it.”

“You  _ will _ be missing it.”

“That’s not for  _ you _ to decide— I feel like something’s going to go wrong in that party.”

New Zealand groans, frustrated. “Stop making excuses to  _ see _ Koku.”

“I’m  _ not _ !” America shouts, desperate, “I can differentiate my  _ life _ from my work!”

“Not if your ‘life’ is definitely being involved in your ‘work’.”

America’s entire head goes blank, and her green eyes dilate as the gears behind her mind starts to spin, and a new idea pops up. She reaches up to her chest, and removes her badge— the badge that was their pride and joy, the thing she brags about to her brothers almost daily, one of the reasons why her ego is so massively inflated. And she plucks it in just a second, her hard work and perseverance only lasting a second, as she drops it to the table. “Then I quit; you won’t be able to touch me when I don’t have a life  _ in _ the police force.”

“Then you’re no longer involved in the case”, Australia states, his eyes shining with surprise, “because this is the police force’s business, and you’re no longer a cop.”

America glares back at all of them, then sighs. “Fine by me; don’t ever expect me to come back here again.”

And she leaves, not even looking back.


	25. Could End In Burning Flames Or Paradise (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a few hours before the party starts, and everyone prepares.
> 
> **TW: mentions/references of abuse**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> split it into two parts because this stupid party chapter is already giving me a headache and i WANT to upload something already

**PART I: HE ATE MY HEART AND THEN HE ATE MY BRAIN**

**Eleven Hours Before**

America laughs as she and Koku decide on what he was going to wear to the party. A dozen — in their imagination — suits were laying all across the floor (Koku removed them from their hangers the moment she arrived), whilst Koku was staring at his reflection in the mirror, holding up a blazer, deep in thought. He was holding up two blazers; one dark grey and the other a lighter version of grey.

“Just pick the darker version of grey”, America says, smiling, “it compliments you more than a lighter shade.”

He looks at her with the use of the mirror, “It does?” He lifts the dark grey blazer, then shrugs. “Well, at least I have  _ something _ to wear to the party tonight.”

She gives him a deadpan look, “You threw every single one of your blazers into your bedroom floors.”

“Because they don’t suit me.”

“... They’re literally the colors of the monochrome rainbow.”

“At least I finally  _ made _ my choice.” He folds his chosen blazer and places it over the other garments he needs to wear for the party. “Now help me clean this place up.”

She tilts her head, thinking for a moment, before smiling innocently, “Nope.”

Koku gives her a small smile, “ _ Kudasai _ ?”

She groans, “Absolutely not; this is your mess and you clean it up yourself.”

He sighs, lying on the bed beside her, “Come on Meri, I’ll treat you to another bubble tea shop when we’re done.”

She resists his briberies— first of all, the party will be happening at seven in the evening, second, they’re not done with the list Teikoku gave them yet (such as decorate the living room with flowers from the garden, pull up banners, move the tables), third, Koku has been treating and buying her a lot of things that she could buy herself lately. At first, she had been — obviously — flabbergasted and grateful with him treating her, but now, after the fiasco between her brothers, she felt embarrassed and guilty that Koku is using up most of his allowance just  _ for her _ , even if she can afford the treats he had given her herself.

America rolls her eyes, trying to regain her composure, “I don’t need those; besides I can afford them myself.”

His eyes meet hers and he smiles. “You’re very pretty.”

“Thanks, it’s a natural talent.” She fixes her hair — which had been covering her face — just to kiss Koku on the lips, filling her with warmth.

He holds her tight, hands on her shoulders as he pulls her in, pulls her into the pool of warmth and love. Her skin tingled at Koku’s touch and her hands were on Koku’s, pulling herself into him. She didn’t ever want to get rid of this feeling; the feeling that she’s floating in outer space, watching the entire universe fall apart from a single mistake, but she doesn’t worry, since she was only sitting back and relaxing as a supernova forms all around her.

Her brothers didn’t  _ need _ to be wary of Koku— he’s harmless, he’s alright, he’s safe, and he really does love her.

_ Her brothers _ .

America hadn’t had contact with them ever since she quit her job; her pride is still recovering from that situation (and despite Koku’s touches it’s still not fixed yet), but she made her point quite clear to them. Sort of. She’s not sure she got through their thick heads. She doesn’t want to openly admit it but she misses them; a lot. She had the urge to text them when she woke up this morning, but for some reason, seeing their names on her phone made her angry, which eventually ruined her morning.

She breaks the kiss, lost in her thoughts and forgetting she was not alone in this room. Her dark green eyes look up towards the ceiling, donning a blank look over her features.

Koku frowns, touching her shoulders gingerly. “Hey, are you okay?”

America turns to look at him, “I’m fine, it’s just—” she sighs. “Family problems.” She doesn’t know if she could confide to him all of her insecurities and weaknesses, but her dam is breaking, and if it breaks in the wrong place and time, she floods everything to the wrong person. So, she waits for Koku to press her on about it.

And — unsurprisingly — he does. “What’s wrong? Was it related to the fact your brothers had been spying on us yesterday?” He didn’t officially talk about his opinion on getting spied on by her brothers, but judging by his tone yesterday and today, it seemed to slightly irritate him.

(Like she is.)

“Yeah— when I got home we had an argument.”

“Can I ask why they’ve been spying on us in the first place?”

“It’s going to sound ridiculous.” She says with a half-smirk, deciding to give him half of the story.

“Come on, everything I hear in this house is ridiculous.”

She takes a deep breath, “Alright… remember the times you gave me the necklace and the jacket? Well… my brothers got very suspicious of what type of person you are, hence…” She raises an arm, “ _ That _ fiasco yesterday.”

He tilts his head, “Ah… so what do they think of me?”

“... They’re still very suspicious about your ‘ _ ulterior motives _ ’, but don’t worry, they’ll warm up to you when you meet them.” … And she should  _ not _ have said the last part.

Predictably, Koku’s eyes light up, “When am I able to meet your brothers?”

She forces a smile on her face, sweating. “Oh, I don’t know— they’re very busy and we meet only once a week due to how busy they are.”

“If they’re so ‘busy’ then why were they able to spy on us all day yesterday?”

“They just  _ love _ getting to a lot of trouble; skipping shifts, slacking off, you name it! Too bad their boss gave them a final warning after they didn’t show up to work yesterday!”  _ It totally wasn’t the other way around _ . She grips hard on the bed’s blankets, smiling wider.

He looks at her for a moment before shrugging, “Alright, let’s just clean this mess up before we meet with the others downstairs.”

She puts a finger on his nose. “You mean  _ you _ clean this mess up.”

Koku chuckles, staring at her and getting up, “Okay, maybe you can just wait for me at the doors?”

“Sure.” Sending one last smile towards his direction, she closes the door that was ready to divide them. After she hears the familiar thud of the door, she lets out a deep sigh, running her hands through her hair. She has no idea why she was quite exhausted today, but maybe it’s due to sleep deprivation.

“America!” She feels the wind knocked out of her along with a pair of arms wrapping around her. Her temporary surprise turns into joy once she realises that it was Palau who was embracing her. After a few seconds of hugging, the girl finally lets go of America. “I’m so glad you’re here, I missed you!”

She laughs, messing with Palau’s hair, “I miss you too kid.”

“I hardly ever get to see you again!” Her blue eyes widen with sadness. “Are we growing apart?”

America shakes her head; she didn’t like the way the girl gets lonely without her. “No we’re not; we’re just very busy at the moment.”

“Do you promise to visit me when you’re free?”

She smiles, squeezing Palau’s cheeks. “Of course.”

The girl smiles at her, delighted. “Yay!” Out of instinct, she raises her arms— and with her eyes she spots a darkened bruise on her arms, covered by her sleeves. Palau realises her mistake too late, and she backs away from America with fear laced in her eyes.

America — out of instinct — grows angry and protective over Palau. “Who gave you that?”

“I-I just t-tripped and f-fell”, she stutters, fingers fidgeting; her eyes are fluttering around the hallway, refusing to land on the woman in front of her. “I-it’s nothing serious.”

Knowing she will get a volatile reaction when she suddenly reaches out and grabs her arm, America takes a deep breath to calm herself down a little. “What did Teikoku do to you this time?”

Her lower lip trembles. “I… was being naughty again, as always.”

“What did you do to get this bruise?”

“My pets were dying”, she sniffles, “but  _ Otosan _ didn’t care and he hit me while I was talking and pushed me out of his office.”

“Your pets are dying?” Well, no surprise there; she’s quite surprised that they lasted this long in captivity. She coos and runs her hands over Palau’s hair, “Oh sweetie, you need to learn to let go; wild animals like those you keep in your basement can’t live that long— but you have to respect them when they’re still living.”

“‘Let go’?”

She nods, carefully connecting their fingers together. “You’re allowed to grieve as long as possible; but you also have to let go at the end of it.”

The younger girl nods, her eyes fixated on their hands together. America thinks about how Teikoku barely gave his daughter any affection to last a lifetime— it was driving her mad. “Okay… but my pets, they’re dying.”

“I’m sorry sweetie, but they can’t last long in here.”

“T-then I’ll be alone?”

She shakes her head, putting her hands on her shoulders, “No, you’ll only be alone if you push everyone who loves you away.”

Palau nuzzles her head on America’s hands, “I don’t want to push you away.”

America smiles, kissing the top of her forehead. “I don’t too.”

Someone opens the door behind them, making Palau jump slightly at the sound.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were still here”, Koku says sheepishly.

She turns to Koku, “I told you I was waiting for you; I didn’t know you would take  _ this _ long to fold a few of your clothes.”

“I got…  _ distracted _ .”

“Did Teikoku message you or something?” Just from saying his name both Koku and Palau glance at each other with worry and fear.

“More or less.” He sighs, “I’m going to help him this morning, so you and the others can go decorate the hallways.”

She can feel herself deflating from disappointment, “Oh, that’s okay Koku, be safe.”

He attempted a smile; there was confusion in his eyes. “I’m always safe.” He walks to another hallway, deeper into the maze Teikoku has created.

“It’s okay America”, Palau tells her, tugging at her sleeve, “we can have fun!”

She chuckles, “Alright, let’s go downstairs.” As Palau drags her away from Koku’s bedroom, her eyes still linger at the hallway Koku had disappeared to.

**Ten Hours Before**

“What do you think suits the living room more? The pink or the yellow flowers?” Palau asks, putting up banners on the living room. She was standing on a chair while on her tiptoes, balancing herself with one of the pillars that were standing around the place.

“I dunno”, America shrugs, staring at Palau’s figure with worry embedded in her eyes, her stance and figure ready to catch her once she falls. “Whatever you want, I guess?”

She smiles at her excitedly, “I want blue flowers; to match my eyes!”

“Let’s get blue flowers after we finish decorating this place, then!”

“Didn’t dad tell us he wants pink flower beds to complement the banners?” Hokkaido speaks up, shaking the formula that America supposes was meant for Okinawa.

(Speaking of Okinawa, where is he?)

Palau frowns, “Oh… alright, we’ll get those flower beds.”

“No, I’m assigned to arrange it”, Hokkaido replies, “but first, I need to give Okinawa his formula… where did he run off to  _ now _ ?”

Palau turns her head at every spot where Okinawa might have hidden, “You know, for a toddler who has short legs, he can run faster than you.”

Hokkaido makes an indignant noise at the back of his throat, “And he obeys orders much better than you.”

Palau hops off of the chair and lands swiftly on her feet (America runs to catch her but she was a second too late from the girl landing), pouting. “He’s a  _ toddler _ , but I’m a teenager.”

Her older brother smirks mischievously, “But you sound a lot like a kid.”

“I’m a  _ teenager _ !” She shouts indignantly, “And I’m gonna find Okinawa before you!”

Before Hokkaido can respond, a faint cry from upstairs obliterates their competitive spirits, replacing it with worry and fear; like a parade was rained on by sadness. Everyone throws furtive glances at each other, all laced with alarm. They hear a faint  _ thud _ echoing through the house, and the crying grows louder because of it. Hokkaido races up the steps, panic numbing all the other emotions— the others follow him.

The door to Teikoku’s office opens with a loud bang once Hokkaido reaches the top of the steps, making him almost fall backwards without Palau catching and stabilising him. Teikoku exits out of the dragon’s den, an infuriated and furious look settling on his features, his children in front of him gasping at his look of ferocity. America glares at him, halfway up the stairs, unhindered. In his hold he clutches his youngest son, with a  _ very visible _ handmark.

His oldest son’s eyes widen at the handmark, “ _ Otosan _ , Okinawa didn’t mean to—”

“Save your excuses”, Teikoku spits acidly, pushing Okinawa to Hokkaido, “you’re not responsible for taking care of your brother.”

“B-but Papa, H-Hokkaido and I were busy decorating a-and—”

“You have  _ no _ excuses for neglecting to care for your brother!” Their father bellows.

“Teikoku, calm down”, Koku emerges from the office, putting a hand on his shoulder, “you shouldn’t have hit Okinawa—”

His older brother turns around and glares at him with fire in his eyes. “Shut your petulant mouth; I’m talking to my children, not you.”

Koku presses his lips together, averting his gaze from Teikoku.

(Sometimes America is exasperated at how he just doesn’t stand up to his brother.)

Teikoku turns back to Hokkaido, who was trying to soothe Okinawa with Palau’s help, “Shut him up or  _ I _ will!”

“I-I’m trying, Papa”, Hokkaido replies, “but you shouldn’t have hit him; that would agitate him further.”

“Then what am I supposed to do? Enlighten me.”

“W-well, you have to soothe him, cradle him, and give him affection”, Hokkaido replies.

“I don’t  _ have _ the time for that”, Teikoku answers, exasperated, touching his older son’s shoulder— making him flinch, with Okinawa sobbing and gurgling harder, “it was  _ your _ job to take care of your brother, and you  _ failed _ .”

“I-It was a one-time mistake”, he stammers, “you shouldn’t  _ hit _ a baby; hit me instead—”

Teikoku’s hand meets Hokkaido’s face in mere seconds after he finishes his sentence— the younger boy puts a shaking hand on the red-hot mark that had just been formed a few seconds ago. Okinawa cries even harder, and due to Hokkaido’s shocked state, Palau takes him from their older brother’s grasp.

“Teikoku, that was uncalled for”, Koku responds, his eyes fixated on Hokkaido, pity on his features, “you shouldn’t have done that—”

“He  _ asked _ for it”, Teikoku cuts in, pivoting his head to him, making his younger brother gulp, “do you  _ want _ to get hit as well?”

He looks the other way, exhausted.

_ This family is screwed up _ , America thinks, watching Teikoku glaring at Hokkaido, Palau soothing the crying toddler, Koku staring into the distance, not meeting anyone’s eyes.  _ No wonder Tokyo committed suicide _ .

Teikoku raises a brow, “I suppose you’ve learned your lesson today.”

Hokkaido numbly nods, his dark eyes on the ground, “ _ Hai _ ,  _ Otosan _ .”

His father smiles pleasantly, “ _ Yoi _ .” He turns his back on them before staring at his younger brother, still standing with eyes fixated on the ground. “Let’s talk, Koku, there are  _ so many _ things we have to discuss.” He puts an arm around Koku’s shoulder, guiding him back to the office; Koku gives America one last look of indecisiveness until the door closes.

**Eight Hours Before**

“You know, I take what I said about pink flowers back”, Palau says after she and America move the last flower bed to its proper place, panting. “I think they look really good with the banners!”

America shrugs, smiling fondly at — her not-daughter — Palau, “I think  _ every _ colour of each flower is your favourite, isn’t it?”

She giggles, “Maybe, but they’re all  _ so _ pretty!” Her eyes lit up, which was an adorable sight for America. “Oh, I forgot to ask: Are you gonna go to the party tonight? ‘Cause I want to surprise you with the dress I got to pick!”

Her smile falters; she was aware that Koku would consult Teikoku about inviting her to the party, but she didn’t  _ want _ to be invited. She  _ loves _ getting attention — don’t get her wrong — but she’s sure that tons of her rivals or people she knows will be there, and she didn’t  _ want _ to give herself away. She was just trying to blend in, like a chameleon camouflaging itself to blend in the deepest depths of the jungle to get away from its predators, and she wants to do the same.

“I don’t think I’m going to be invited to the party”, she replies as gently as she can, but Palau’s face slowly becomes more dejected. “Your dad has a certain dislike towards me.”

“Well, it’s okay”, Palau says, pouting, “I just want company, ‘cause all of the guests my Papa invited would be grown guys and girls.”

She lets out a small laugh, “ _ I’m _ a grown woman, yet you enjoy spending time with me.”

“You’re the only person who doesn’t treat me like a child”, she replies, fidgeting with her fingers, “a-and you’re the first adult who has been so…  _ weird _ to me.”

America raises a brow, “‘Weird’?”

Palau nods, her face tinting with red. “Like… you care about my injuries, you give me affectionate nicknames and you give me hugs and sometimes even a kiss. It’s weird, ‘cause my dad never gave me any of those.”

America tries to keep her smile intact, but her heart is pouring out for Palau, “Sweetie, parents should be giving you all the love in the world.”

“But Papa does!” Palau replies, though her tone was unsure and shaky; she knows that feeling all too well. “He’s just very busy and stressed with all the work he’s been getting, but he gives me a lot of presents to compensate for the lack of time he has with me.”

“Does being stressed excuse him hitting you when you are agitated?” America questions.

“O-of course!” Palau replies, concerningly sure of her answer, “you disturbed someone while working, you’d expect to get hit!”

America bites her lip, the answer worrying her. “But you were reacting out of impulse— your pets are dying and you want to ask Teikoku to save them. You weren’t thinking about the consequences of your actions, you just want to save your pets. You barging into his office and surprising him  _ does not _ warrant getting hit.”

“But it does!”

“ _ No _ , it doesn’t; you surprising him and barging into his office unprecedented would make him angry or irritated, of course, but he should’ve listened to you and  _ not _ hit you when you’re still vulnerable.”

“I… don’t deserve getting hit?” Palau repeats, slightly considering her reasoning.

“No you don’t.” America puts her hands on her shoulders, before she slowly envelops Palau in an embrace. “You don’t deserve to get hurt, not ever.”

The younger girl looks at her bruise, the colour of dark blue; it must still hurt after all this time. “I don’t deserve getting hurt?”

America nods, “You don’t.”

Palau looks at her bruise, then back at America with a pouty look, “Well, maybe in your household you don’t get hit, but in ours Papa is very harsh but just with the rules.”

She sighs; she won’t be able to open Palau’s eyes to her father’s wrongdoings this fast, the girl needs more time to process. “Alright, let’s just check on the pastries for a moment, okay?”

Palau nods, her face donning a dejected look. “Okay.” 

“Hey”, America touches Palau’s cheek gently, like a mother taking care of her young, “we’ll have fun  _ after _ we finish checking with the pastries.”

“We’ll visit my pets before they…  _ rest in peace _ , will we?” she asks.

America nods, “Of course we will.”

She smiles; it was a smile that will be ingrained in her head forever. The girl was like the coast, between sea and land— waves softly coming to shore with gentle and small waves to make her comfortable, no sight of storms and grey skies whenever she’s with her. She can’t help but smile whenever Palau appears, a child born into the wrong family, suffering from it; she wants to take her away and raise her with someone who could do better.

**Six Hours Before**

“What did Teikoku tell you?” America asks as she and Koku take a stroll around the gardens; he had just exited Teikoku’s office just a few minutes ago. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, but when America was in his line of sight he tried to act natural.

“Nothing much”, he replies vaguely, eyes uncharacteristically looking to the distance; she wants him to look at  _ her _ . “Just asking how I was doing and some other business related stuff.”

Her eyes light up. “What  _ kind _ of business-related stuff?”

He shrugs, “Just general stuff, such as his and Weimar’s partnership, the increase of the purchase of our products, imports and exports rising slowly and steadily.”

“Exports?” she questions, fascinated; a little  _ too _ fascinated.

He shrugs, “We’re industrialising slowly.”

“Not to be blunt but I feel like you’re hiding something from me.” She frowns at him.

“I’m not.” He sighs — finally — turning his head to look at her. “I just have a lot in my head.”

“You can tell me anything.”

He picks out a flower from one of the bushes, looking at it. “It’s nothing, I’m usually like this.”

“Do you trust me?” she asks.

“Of course.” He pushes the hair strands covering her face and places the flower that he had picked on her hair. “But you should also learn to trust me.”

“I do”, America protests, holding his hand, “it just makes me overthink whenever you don’t talk to me directly.

He gives her a half-smile; not really a full smile but still enough to fuel her. “Sorry, my brother just said a few sensitive things towards me.”

Her face darkens, “What did he say to you?”

He utters out a small laugh. “It’s nothing much— sorry for making you worry about me.”

She groans, rolling her eyes, “I may be concerned about you but it’s in people’s nature to worry about you.”

He smiles at her— a  _ full _ smile this time. “I worry about you as well, you know.”

She chuckles fondly, “I worry about you  _ a lot _ , but that’s okay.”

“That’s okay?”

“Yeah, because that means that you care a lot about the other. You’re able to know when they’re okay or not with a slight change in their mood.”

“I care a lot about you, then.”

“Of course you do”, she replies, tapping his shoulder, “and I think that you’re not okay.”

“Not really, no”, he kicks at a stone pebble in front of his path and moves it near a flower bed, “but I’m just being insensitive.”

“Well, sometimes you  _ do _ get insensitive”, America bluntly replies, yawning, “but when it comes to Teikoku you’re the opposite of it.”

“I told Teikoku that he was being harsh to Hokkaido.”

“And do you believe that you were right?”

“Well… yes, but he started to tell me I don’t support disciplining children or teaching them about morals; I’d been wholly confused during that part of our discussion.”

“He’s just twisting your words to benefit him”, she says, tugging on his sleeve, “if you think that hitting both Hokkaido and Okinawa for something they didn’t even do is wrong, then you’re right.”

“You don’t agree with Teikoku’s methods?”

“Obviously.”

“I don’t support not disciplining children?”

“I guess? It kinda depends.”

He smiles, and to her surprise, he pulls her into an embrace— not like she doesn’t like the embrace, as she takes a whiff of the scent off of his sweater. “You’re really nice.”

Lovestruck, she hugs him back. “Not really.”

**Four Hours Before**

“Did you have a mother?” America jumps at his sudden question; she had been busy browsing his phone — for intel — that due to the silence of the bedroom she had forgotten Koku was still there.

(She only managed to get his phone after he went to shower; as much as she  _ wanted _ to see him strip she realised she could have valuable information from his phone. He had no comment when he emerged from the shower and saw her holding his phone.

“Didn’t know your password was  _ moi _ ”, she teases, scrolling through his phone.

He turns red, averting his gaze, “Don’t make me regret this.”)

“Well that’s a personal question”, she mutters, before telling him, “my brothers and I were raised by just my dad. Why ask?”

He looks up from his desk, “I don’t know, I just remember my mother all of a sudden and I was curious if you had one.”

“Yeah, I had one”, an image of Netherlands smirking enters her mind, “she was super crazy, which was the reason why my dad raised us alone.”

_ Not like her dad wasn’t crazy himself either _ .

“I just realised how I don’t know much of your home life when you answered my question”, he says, moving his chair so he can look at her, “but you know me and my family, and how…  _ imperfect _ we are.”

“Well, no family is perfect”, she replies, shrugging, “what would you like to know, anyway?”

“Well, are you the eldest of your family?”

“Yeah, all my other brothers came later, with a two years gap with each of us.” Her heart silently aches, once again wanting to talk to her brothers.

“You must be happy with them, huh?”

She chuckles weakly, sweating. “Of course; we were like peas in a pod.”

“They must be overprotective of you, right?”

Her smile falters, “Well, not really.”

“But didn’t they spy on us yesterday just to see if I’m trustworthy or not?”

“It was one time.” She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “They’re generally okay with whoever I date, and we don’t meddle in each other’s love lives.”

“Then how come they were overprotective of you when we were hanging out?”

“That’s probably because your brother has an…  _ infamous _ reputation in our area.” It wasn’t a lie this time. “They were all pretty nervous when I signed up for this job; thought you were… as infamous as your brother, they say.”

“Oh, well I don’t blame them— Teikoku can be a  _ little _ intimidating.”

Her lips curl;  _ A little _ ? “I don’t blame them, heh.”

Koku’s eyes are filled to the brim with intrigue, “I’m — generally — impressed at how your father raised  _ four children _ alone.”

_ Well, he had the help of servants _ . She shrugs, “Well, the days of him fooling around with chicks are bound to come back to him full force, won’t it?”

His eyes widen, “Wait, you and your brothers are  _ half _ -siblings?”

“Why are you surprised about that? Your nephews and niece are also half-siblings, and you, Tokyo, and Teikoku all share the same father.”

“Sorry, I just think it’s so surprising.” He chuckles, putting his pen down.

“Imagine being surprised by something you’re supposed to be used to.”

“How old is your dad now anyway?”

“In his fifties, I think?” she shrugs; she really doesn’t remember the last time she saw him. “He had me in his twenties.”

Koku’s eyes widen, calculating the ages in his head. “Wait… so you’re over  _ thirty _ ?”

“Hey, you make it sound like I’m old!” she protests, immediately insecure of herself.

(Well, the guy she liked  _ just _ found out about her age, which was embarrassing.)

“Sorry”, Koku replies with a smile, but his eyes hold surprise. “I just didn’t think you were…  _ older _ than me.”

America makes a face, “It’s because of my height, isn’t it?”

“Well… one of those things; I’m in my twenties.”

She crosses her arms, huffing, “Obviously, you act like one.” She smirks. “I’m pretty sure my youngest brother — New Zealand — is older than you by a few years.”

“I get it, I’m too young for you.”

“Oh god, is this thing still legal?”

“... I guess?”

They stare at each other for a moment, before they both erupt into mirthless laughter, a blessing to the air around them.

America sighs tenderly, staring up at Koku. “Don’t tell anyone, but I love your smile.”

Much to her enjoyment, he smiles too. “I love your smile too; it looks so sweet and kind, like you’re someone that’s able to keep my secrets.”

Her eyes twitch, “Right.”

He walks up to her, giving her a small but gentle kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”

_ It’s too soon to say that _ . She exhales, embracing him, “I love you too.”

But she said it.

She’d always felt like she was born with only half a soul; her hypotheses were proven when Australia managed to get together with Villers. They just looked so happy together, she couldn’t help but feel envious of their relationship, especially when her brother would brag about being together with someone before them— she  _ longed _ for a person in her life who saw her with affection, love, and passion, the way Australia and Villers stare at each other.

Everyone can tell that they are in love just from the way they look at each other.

She wanted that; so so much.

And now, she finally has that— Koku looks at her with the same intensity as how Australia looks at his beloved, like she was the missing part of his soul.

It’s too good to be true.

(The pane of glass that divides dreams from reality is breaking.)

**Three Hours Before**

Teikoku absently twirls the line of the telephone, listening in to Weimar talking about how much territory he’d gained and how many different mob bosses he had managed to scare away or capture.

“I managed to catch  _ France _ out of all people!” He laughs, cold and chilly, “I feel so…  _ powerful _ now.”

“Congratulations”, Teikoku replies, yawning, “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Well, sometimes you underestimate me.”

“ _ Everyone _ has underestimated you”, he corrects, boredly looking at his monitors, “don’t flatter yourself.”

Weimar ignores him. “Well, I have something to tell you; it’s about your brother.”

The man raises a brow, intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”

“My butterflies saw your brother and that woman a few days ago, being overly affectionate and passionate towards each other. It is of no surprise that they would be getting along so easily, but I found them sharing a kiss on top of a hill;  _ how romantic _ .”

“I’m not surprised”, Teikoku replies, breaking a ballpoint pen with his own bare fingers, gritting his teeth. “Just angry.”

“You do sound angry at the end of the line”, Weimar teases, “but don’t worry, I have a perfect way to tear their relationship apart.”

“Be quick, I don’t want to see the two with the thoughts of them loving each other.”

“Of course; I’d like to see America herself plunge to even more misery.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

**Two Hours Before**

“I forgot to ask this, but did you ask Teikoku to invite me to the party tonight?” America asks, holding Koku’s hand.

“He didn’t say anything about it”, he replies, “he just changed the subject… which I will take as a yes.”

She raises a brow, chuckling. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I really want you to go with me.”

“Why do you want me to go with you?”

“So I would feel less lonely.”

America rubs his fingers soothingly, “The party tonight is basically you about to kiss Ost.”

(For some reason, she’s against it.)

He frowns, “Please don’t make me think of that.”

She laughs, “Alright, sorry.” Her face grows serious again, “But you’re nervous, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Just pretend you’re dancing with me”, she replies, “that  _ might _ calm you down.”

“You were brutal at teaching me how to dance”, Koku says with a small smile, “my legs wouldn’t have recovered unless you didn’t give me hour breaks.”

“Because you seem so winded”, she says, putting a finger on his nose, “it was so cute.”

“I kind of feel embarrassed”, he says, “but not  _ that _ embarrassed.”

“You’re gonna do great”, she pats him on the shoulder, “just imagine me when you see Ost.”

“I’ll try.”

* * *

“Ost! Where have you been?” West asks, letting Ost in their home; she looked winded, yet her eyes were twinkling with happiness.

“Where do you  _ think _ ?” Ost raises her phone, a dream-filled smile on her face.

His face, however, wasn’t as happy as hers. “Ost!  _ Vati _ told you to start dressing up already!”

His sister rolls his eyes, “Who  _ cares _ ? This is the last day that I’m happy all by myself!”

“You’re with your boyfriend again, weren’t you?” West asks, sighing.

“Obviously.”

“O-Ost, you’ll get in trouble when  _ Vati _ finds out!”

“Let him find out; my boyfriend is  _ way _ richer than him.”

“He’s… not the same age as you, isn’t he?”

“Why would you ask?”

“It’s just… everything is crystal clear to me right now. How old is he?”

His sister raises a brow before sighing, “None of your business; let’s just get this party over with.”

Before her brother could speak, she entered their home, still giddy and excited. West, not being able to extract information from her, follows her back inside.

* * *

“What do you  _ mean _ I’m not allowed to attend Teikoku’s party tonight?!” Inmin exclaims, furious. “I have the  _ chance _ to ask him about my mother!”

“Because you’ll just disrupt the entire occasion, Inmin”, Soviet replies, fixing Mongolia’s tie.

“And you’ll  _ ruin _ my fun”, Mongolia mutters, combing his hair while facing the mirror.

“Besides, we need someone to tend to our wounded”, Soviet replies, staring at Inmin, “and you’re the only person who wasn’t wounded because you were spying on your family.”

His glare immediately makes the younger man step back, clearing his throat before tending to a wounded Kazakhstan. “I’ll make sure no intruder would come to this place.”

“You  _ better _ make sure”, Soviet growls, “or I will give you a fate worse than death.”

Inmin takes a moment to hesitate before saying, “ _ Da, ser _ .”

“And everyone else, be on high alert; we don’t know if Teikoku and Weimar will strike again at our most vulnerable.”

“It’d be better if I was with Minguk”, Mongolia mutters under his breath; he didn’t mean for Soviet to hear it.

“What was that?” Soviet whips his head to face him.

“N-nothing,  _ Ser _ ”, he says, averting his gaze, “I said that I can’t wait to go.”

“Let’s stall for a moment; I want to see how Inmin would handle the situation we’re in.”

“I don’t think I will need your guidance,  _ ser _ .”

“I know how you treat everyone here”, Soviet replies, “and I will not tolerate your foolish actions today.”

He looks down. “ _ Izvinite, ser _ .”

“Don’t apologise; we all know that you don’t mean it.”

* * *

“America isn’t in her apartment”, Australia states, putting a hand on America’s desk; in front of them was Canada, sitting on his sister’s table, drinking coffee. He stares at his older brother sitting at America’s chair so casually. “Why are you seated  _ there _ ?”

“Where do you think she went?” Canada ignores his comment, taking a sip of the bitter beverage, stimulating his nerves. “To the Nippon Household, obviously.”

“Should we… go there?”

“We shouldn’t”, Canada shrugs, “there’s something wrong with that party; I can feel it.”

“Then we should help her!” New Zealand speaks up.

Their older brother continues to drink his coffee with a nonchalant look on his face. “I don’t think we should.”

Australia glares at Canada; even if they had a spat with their older sister, they still care and worry about their well-being. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, she’s only there to spend time with Koku, so why are we all complaining about her being there?”

Before Canada and Australia could react, New Zealand immediately gets up from the place he was sitting, climbs on America’s desk, grabs Canada’s shirt and pushes him into the wall, eyes full of fire. “Are you saying we should just  _ abandon _ her?”

Australia and Canada stare at their younger brother, still pinning Canada to the wall like a predator crushing its prey’s body for an easy meal. They’ve never seen their brother act that way before; he’d been agitated and exhausted before, but not to the extent of cornering his brother for a questionable statement. In the most desperate situations he was still the calmest and most level-headed people, but now he gives in to his own instincts.

Coffee sloshes from his cup and into his shirt; whether it was still hot, Canada showed no reaction to it, dark green eyes fixated on his brother holding him. “I didn’t  _ mean _ it that way; I meant that we should all just respect her wishes, even if her intentions are ridiculous.”

“That’s not what you meant at first”, Kiwi replies, his fingers digging into Canada’s skin. “You don’t care about her anymore.”

His eyes widened, shocked and taken aback by such an obvious claim, “I still  _ care _ about her; she was just being immature and I decided to accept her reasons today!”

“Canada, you’re hiding some ulterior motive in those sentences”, Australia replies, approaching them. “We’re all mad and hurt that America took advantage of our trust, but we still love her; what’s bothering you?”

Canada sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Nothing’s bothering me, I’m just deep in thought.”

New Zealand releases his grip on his brother, “Hey, we were all hurt by her, and no doubt she was hurt by us.”

“I  _ know _ we hurt her— you can see it in her eyes.”

“I never really thought she would abandon us for… someone like him.” Australia crosses his arms. “I don’t know what she saw in him.”

“Something that we never saw in him”, New Zealand says, shrugging.

“That doesn’t explain the piece of paper I found”, Canada says, thinking, “Minguk and Imsi’s home is a disclosed address.”

“I don’t know about the sheet of paper either, but she still held her faith for him”, New Zealand shrugs.

“She likes him  _ that _ much”, Australia states, “wonder how they managed to confess their feelings to one another.”

“Whenever America likes someone  _ that _ way, her eyes and face light up in a way that is indecipherable to us”, Kiwi explains. “I’m pretty sure he noticed it.”

“No, I’m pretty sure he confessed to her first”, Australia states, “the necklace she had been wearing was a giveaway.”

Canada groans, “Why are we talking about our sister’s love life again?”

“Because you brought it up!”

* * *

“Like rats in a maze, don’t you think, Weimar?”

“I want them all to die.”

“I want them all to  _ fear _ me.”

“We all desire different things.”

“But the outcome always ends up the same.”

**Thirty Minutes Before**

“Does my blazer make my head look big?” Koku asks, smoothing his blazer and staring at his reflection in the mirror.

America stares at his back, “Do you want it to be?”

He turns his head to look at her, “No, because I’ll end up embarrassing myself in front of everyone.”

“You won’t if you just remember to keep calm and collected.”

“I  _ can _ be calm and collected, but not in front of  _ that _ many people!”

“Then pretend there’s only one person in the party.”

“How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know; tune out all the other conversations happening?”

“I can’t just tune  _ all _ of them out!”

“Imagine them in their underwear! That always works for me!”

“... Do you imagine Teikoku in his underwear whenever you meet with him?”

America gives him a disgusted look, “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’ll just try that in front of everyone.”

“The side effect includes laughing when you’re not supposed to.” America fixes his crooked tie, surprising him. She smiles up at him, “I’m sure you got this.”

He looks at her with affection written all over his face, “Thank you.”

America wanted to give him another kiss, but a hard knock on the door dissuades her and ruins the moment for them. With disappointment and contempt, she steps backwards until they both have their own personal space.

“Come in”, he says, checking his reflection in the mirror one more time.

Teikoku — of course it  _ had _ to be him — opens the door. He glares at America, while his face lights up when seeing his younger brother. He smiles, but his eyes look dull and dead. “Your clothes suit you so much, Koku!”

He smiles, “Thank you—”

“For a failure like you.” His smile grows wider and his eyes shine when he insults him.

Koku stops speaking, and America glares at Teikoku, his wide smile intact.

His grey eyes go dark. “Ah, thank you, Teikoku.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you”, Teikoku coos, putting his hand on his head, “I mean, if you get hurt by something as minor and small as that, you won’t be able to prepare for the real world.”

“I understand, Teikoku.”

“Of course you do”, he replies, “and you’re smart enough to know that we’ll be starting the party after thirty minutes— Weimar and his children are here early, as always.”

“I’ll go downstairs”, Koku replies civilly,  _ coldly _ , “give me a minute.”

“Take your time”, Teikoku replies calmly, aware he’s hit a nerve, “don’t be so cold; smile for me.”

He takes a deep breath, before smiling, his eyes still empty. “I love you, you know.”

“Of course you do.” Koku’s smile falters a little from that response. “Now, don’t keep our guests waiting.” He closes the door behind him; good riddance.

America breaks the silence, facing a blank Koku. “Are you okay?”

He takes a while to answer— when he does, he gives her a cold look that throws her off guard. “Yeah, I am.”

“Are you sure? You just look so out of it—”

“I’m  _ alright _ , okay?” he snaps at her, shocking her. “I don’t need your concern, much less your words of encouragement right now!”

She was both shocked and taken aback; she never predicted Koku losing his temper at her, but she also did not want to tolerate the damage her pride had just gotten. She glares at him, “You didn’t need to shout at me.”

He inhales and exhales until his face softens. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah”, America replies, heading for the door, “Maybe you are.”

She exits his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i hope that ending doesn't destroy the relationship or something


End file.
